Rose and Other Poems
by Chad Beattie

this house was once my home
now i cannot bear the sight
these dismal bare walls
cats meowing from all angles
and the allegiance i had
to the people that were once my family
to the ghosts i once called my friends
no longer.
over time i've disintegrated half my weight,
half my mind, half my spirit,
and i lost all there was to lose.
now i am no one.
the shadow of a little boy -
gentle, hopeless, suffering.
i wear the urn of solitude
and carry the ashes of my former self,
head-strong and feeble-minded,
lurking closer and closer
to the land of nowhere.
one day i will walk on water
and give wine to the less fortunate.
even then it will not be enough.
i walk with nobody
and nobody walks with me
but the moonless darkness, in which i hang onto
hopelessly tight, like that summer body
i once held dear to my soul.
yesterday is no more and today is a nightmare
but i cannot give up just yet,
i must create harmonies to accompany
these blemished melodies
and i must learn to forget
all that has led me to this given place in time.
now is no more and tomorrow is
nothing but a day. and yesterday,
well yesterday is a world
i strive to forget.


the body lies limp
in a casket. dim lighting
outlines the face,
pale dimples
of the dead. we ignore
the elephant.
we make small talk
and laugh because
that's what's expected.
no one sees beyond the surface.
the body lies limp
in a casket. she once was
alive. she once could see,
hear, smell. all of it.
now she cannot.
now she is with god
or so we tell ourselves.
yes, she is with god now
because that's what we
want to believe. because we're
so fearful that one day it will be us
lying limp in a casket. but for now
we must pay our respects
as is the living's duty to the dead.

circle of life

in the soft sunset
we wait for the flies
to come and rescue us.
the flies feed on our
skin until our skin shrivels
and turns to mud. then the flies
drop dead from the heat
and bury themselves
in the mud. the core of
civilization is learning
that ideas are recycled
and humanity is the victim
to systematic failure.
we repeat the mistakes
of our ancestors. then we teach
our children how to make
the same mistakes. one day
there will be none of this.
we will have fucked ourselves raw.
doom and gloom and parking meters.
ghettos and rape and hate.
our skulls are too thick to learn.
we only want to win.
the only way to win is to succeed.
succession is capitalized.
money drives us blind.
a boat in the water
and a watch around the wrist
sure look delectable.
forget about helping your neighbor.
in fact, destroy them.
murder them into the ground.
it took me twenty-two years
to give up. one day god will too. that'll be the day.
i hope i'm around to say
i told you so.


like a child
on their death bed,
i only want to play.
i only want to forget
the experiences i've
consumed and
devoured. the lessons
time has taught me.
i want to forget
that time is money
and money is time.
i only want to waste away,
softly and unknowingly,
like a ripple in the sea.
i want the tide to build
and pull me away.
wash me under.
i only want to live again.