How does one spell Alzheimers?

Underpass


It is a room of dispossessed.
A room of failed dreamers’ dreams.
“I could hear a mouse fart in a crowded bar,”
He shouted to the faded room.
Or did he simply say it to himself?
Like so many things, he wasn’t sure.
Through teary, faded eyes
He scanned the tired people
In the foggy light. Slack jaws,
Dreamless eyes watching TV.
“What did you dream?” he cried in anger
(or thought he did). No one responded.
Vanna turned the letters...
D for drugs, D for dreams.
Marooned on someone else’s shore,
Empty vessels, rusted tools,
Flotsam in the foamy drool.
Here they come, the smiling ones.
The, “oh what a nice sunny place” ones.
The looking at their watches ones
With I hope you die soon eyes.
He smiles and nods, too tired
From holding back his screams
To kick them in the balls
And spit, “Fuck you! Fuck you!”
They are in control (he used to be).
Did they take control or did he surrender?
Can’t drive, can’t write a check,
Can’t control his bowels, If he could, he’d shit on them
Instead of himself.
He’d piss on their paper
Pieces of silver.
Inside his husk lay young dreams
Now dormant, dried like flowers pressed,
Faded, like this place.
Eyes glaring dully,
Tissue paper skin… sagging
Under the weight of unfulfilled dreams,
Unanswered prayers, broken promises…
Time.
It was a bad bargain…
Courage, creativity, control,
Independence. For what?
The survival trap.
Had he but known it would
Drag on so, he’d of
Grabbed it by the throat
With cheers ringing in his ears,
Lights flashing, horn blowing,
Led Zeppelin screaming,
Ended it all in a blink,
A hundred MPH plus
Into some underpass.
What a fool he was
To have out lived himself.