I often gaze and wonder what is ahead of me

Of who I am and what I’ll be

Shall I be left for dead, upon a shadowed chair

Or cold and mottled, strewn upon the stair

Just how far is that beast ahead of me?

I often dream of who I truly am

Of how many years may I stand tall against the dam

How many must I smoke

Before my lungs begin to choke

And how many must I lose

Such strung out and restless youth’s

Seeking impossible yet revelatory truth’s

How many drugs do I need

Before my brain begins to fizz

I often kneel and plead

Lonesome amidst the feast

So, please do not let me become that solemn beast

Shall I be my father, shall I be my mother

Shall I be imbued with love, or simply a faceless other

Who can the ghost in my dream be

Is it them? or could that be me?

And I often cry in fear

If I shall become that beast

The cloud amidst a cigarette

The sun now hangs low

There’s a reflection there of a man I swear I used to know

Before my eyes, materialise, all that I despise 

Of who that beast I shall become

This life is a game of Russian roulette 

How many turns remain before the bullet leaves the gun

And how many years shall pass

Before the closure of my sun

Shall I be known, shall I be forgot

Reduced to ash in a dusted pot

A plaque in the city

Or spared any pity

Just how long is it before I become the beast

Please take me by my hand

And tell me you love me

Or leave me in the sand

As your shadow looms above me

Is all I am a prophet

Or shall I be a drunk

Is all I truly am, an incomplete composite

Clinging to his chunk

For all that I’ve amassed

Shall not stick around

For every day that passed

I draw closer to the ground

As I now stand above

My heart devoid of love

I see that image come

Before every morn, beneath each waning sun

I see that solemn faced boy come near

With his face of the deceased

He speaks to me these words of fear

That say I shall become the beast

Generational rue left undone

Binds the eyes to the majesty of the sun

Just when the curse is presumed broken

The cadaver shifts as the words are spoken

Say the young shall inherit the beast

So shall I be that figure

In the chair with ashen hair

Seen the ugly side, of a life unfair

Can I be loved is what I ask

Yes that’s the least, a meagre task

Or is the path laid

And the cards now played

Say, I shall become the beast.