alea iacta esto

When The Shit Hits The Fan

Who will care?
I won’t be here
Your friends won’t be there
Your boss will be elsewhere

Your pusher will be scarce
The law will be fierce
The judge will be terse
Your name will be cursed
The shock will only get worse

Companion’s who once were close
Now, like mists, sense where the wind blows
Their smiles, grotesque; with reeking underbellies
They dance; revel with Machiavelli

That’s why
When the shit hits the fan
It’s never long ‘fore you know
That Earth will open wide to swallow
Neither a naive nor timid fellow

Hearken ye.
Don’t let the shit hit the ….


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