Bartholomew's Reading Room
The Way That I Choose
by: E. A. Bartholomew
Shuffling down the dim yellow hall
The sounds of the city below me do call
But I'd rather pretend I don't hear them at all
As I slowly slip in through my door
I rest my bones on my mahogany chair
And light a Corona while casting my stare
At the olive green walls through the smoke in the air;
How could I ask for more?
I see the world changing; it's stronger each day
But me, I get weaker; more dead, in a way
My breathing is heavy, my bones shake and sway
My muscles are shrunken and sore
My coughing, it tells me with guttural words
That my smoking with cancer is truly absurd
But I am no gimp; I'm as free as a bird
Taking pills is an unwanted chore
These doctors these days trick you into their ruse
What's in it for them? They've got nothing to lose
I want to go out in the way that I choose
And maybe I'll even the score
My children, they call but they never stop by
To look in my eyes, where the tears have run dry
They think that I'm useless, can't wait till I die
They think "What is he waiting for?"