the roaring parties have exhaust fumes that can kill you

this energy is like a desperate dance with death

I’ve already watched this movie

about the rich and the beautiful

where social status is a currency

and the self-obsessed believe they can travel to far-away places

high, in the Andes Mountains

where death will never find them.

the party, is anonymous with laughter

We have to choose what will kill us

successful people die with their drug of choice

it’s all downhill, from their fame

like skiing on broken skis

their hair falls out

their good looks fade

their bones break

the party is over—it’s the dismal drudgery of existence

until, wrinkled with age

but the misery doesn’t have to be your own

you don’t have to stand outside of your mansion, like a crypt above ground

you don’t have to die, until your dead

I would rather be measured by

my own head

It’s not really about who’s listening

People only Pretend to listen,

It’s the sound of pleasure

that never satisfies

Thinking, someplace quiet

and not wanting, what others want

This is your own life—

don’t give it to the party

to the skeletons that dance until midnight

You are flesh

and bone

and spirit

You can save your own soul

if you dance

your own dance

when you make your own music

when you make-up your own mind

and you don’t wear it

on the outside, to look better

in a sea of clowns

who are sad when they smile.

Be a genuine person—it’s the only hope for humanity

it matters more, when you get close to death

and we are closer, than we know.