Spit It Out

I have a few things I would like to say.
None of which are important.
In the slightest.
I intend to die with these dark secrets embedded in my bones.
Enclosed around my soul.

Do not attend my funeral.
Because I won’t be there.

I’m am somebody’s nobody.
When I’m wearing my Big Red Hat.
It’s locked up now. I plan to burn it someday.
Burn it with my Big Green Boot.

You want to deliver a message?
Messengers are shot.
Envelopes are torn.
And birds are eaten.
I would advise you to keep it to yourself.
And to buy a noose,
a golden one of course.
To go out in style.