God the Taxi Driver

I drank the flame of Betelgeuse,

mistook it for gin.

No way home but God on the last full moon.

Ran

behind his hearse

my knees break,

my shoulder dislocated.

Grew tired of waving,

after 17 years

Shoved his photograph down my throat

so he knew he was in me.

Brake lights

He took pity

on blistered feet,

his son had walked

an outcast path.

Staggered

towards the musty back.

A coffin,

aware it is my own decision

to induce the arrival of afterlife.

Douse my tongue with the last martini,

Green apple.

Hand him my spirit,

impetuous.

Seemingly nervous

my praying hands can no longer

crumple a $2 bill

throw it at the saviour.

Drop to the asphalt,

spit blood before him

so he knew I was damaged

inside, his image had done nothing.

Untowardly,

he laughs.

Blurry eyes,

goosebumps rise

I grit my teeth,

hands become epileptic

He had never stopped for me

Discharge his photo,

I had forced it down

but had not

Swallowed

to slur curiosities

The sour stench of vomit

should have pulled him

Closer

to clean up

the mess unbearable

Did you have to bury 5 men inside of me?

I refuse to be your Trojan horse.

Only willing to give birth

to death.

Lull it to sleep

with recordings of my goodbyes.

Broke hips,

they stood wide

Like a woman should be

to lure in his eye.

The full moon had ended,

Betelgeuse's bottle shattered,

shredded

from emanating light,

reborn.

Waved my hand once,

my shoulder back in place

the hearse had pulled over.

No longer wanted to pay,

when I could just walk.