Spoiler! :
viking funeral
the oil slips down the stairs -
drip, drip, plop, drip -
and puddles on the hardwood floor
in little black droplets,
mixing with the white drywall
spilled out like Jackson Pollock painting
on that long hallway to the front door
where the kids said bye to daddy in the morning
and tackled him in the evening.
but you wouldn't know that, would you?
you always slept in the closet under the stairs,
pretending you were a wizard
and thinking the world was one tear-stained corner
to the other, where you could live out any fantasy
if it meant dragons could carry you into their caves
and bury you in their gold,
because they thought you deserved
more than a whip or a belt.
and when the kids went off to college
and daddy focused his bloodshot third eye on you,
it was only a matter of time
before you stepped into the cockpit,
strapped on goggles over your eyes,
and pressed the red button on that joystick.
or, to say it better, you climbed onto your dragon,
grabbed onto it with your little scarred arms,
and told it to breathe fire.
if you still had eyes to see through,
or a body that didn't blow away in the wind,
I think you'd be proud to know
you are the greatest wizard of all time -
you killed the villain and escaped life,
the biggest closet of them all.
the oil slips down the stairs -
drip, drip, plop, drip -
and puddles on the hardwood floor
in little black droplets,
mixing with the white drywall
spilled out like Jackson Pollock painting
on that long hallway to the front door
where the kids said bye to daddy in the morning
and tackled him in the evening.
but you wouldn't know that, would you?
you always slept in the closet under the stairs,
pretending you were a wizard
and thinking the world was one tear-stained corner
to the other, where you could live out any fantasy
if it meant dragons could carry you into their caves
and bury you in their gold,
because they thought you deserved
more than a whip or a belt.
and when the kids went off to college
and daddy focused his bloodshot third eye on you,
it was only a matter of time
before you stepped into the cockpit,
strapped on goggles over your eyes,
and pressed the red button on that joystick.
or, to say it better, you climbed onto your dragon,
grabbed onto it with your little scarred arms,
and told it to breathe fire.
if you still had eyes to see through,
or a body that didn't blow away in the wind,
I think you'd be proud to know
you are the greatest wizard of all time -
you killed the villain and escaped life,
the biggest closet of them all.
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