The Has-Been

when he was younger & the spice of the moment the cameras did capture him a million times over his music made the charts his paintings sold for way more than they could ever have been worth & the world care about what he had to say for all but a brief moment---he shocked & some might say he rocked, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles--- when he was big, he had the kitties coming up to suckle he never spent a night alone he snorted blow off their chests like it was going out of style, hitching up the reindeer & off to the market from the stage to the rave & from the rave to the stage the whole while dizzy from sexual exhaustion & a body full of chemicals foreign to the body but needed for the fill & then suddenly, no one gave a *****about him anymore. the magazines removed his face the news reporters walked by him now on the way to a younger, more shocking thing & the internet barely whispered because what he had been no longer buzzed like the buzzing bee he had once seemed to be, and now, the kitties stopped suckling, pulling away from that bowl of milk like it had turned overnight & he found himself sleeping more & more nights with an empty bed, while the chemical level in his bloodstream rose as fast as his has-been status. now the fallen wreckage of a once talented artist roams round hollywood or whatever plastic place he can find young aspiring ladies who want nothing to do with him any longer, on his knees & begging please for one more roll in the hay one more night to bring all his senses to a hilt reminding him of when he was the **** when he had something to say that people wanted to hear, or at least pretended to, long enough so that he could get some decent drugs & a few supermodels--- now, the old geezer watches with teary eyes the younger versions of him getting what he still wants but he can no longer have, because the rules apply to all who have lived the life.