The Last Days Of The Suicide Kid Comments

bloodless, brain gone, gamble gone, me, Bukowski, gone Isn't it a lovely day, Mr. Bukowski O, yeah, yeah in my pajamas, slop drooling out of my mouth. strange is it.. tony

Isn't it a lovely day, Mr Bukowski? I walk on the broken pieces of that paper heart, and breathe the cold air from a dying holiday. Black or white, white or Black

I would not like to end up in 'a sterile rest home' and so far I haven't. 'Suicide' is a strong word, but it mirrors his fears. The wheelchair is another fear.

My God, this is exactly what I fear. I led a life of partying from noon till close most days of the week with beautiful, beautiful women. Juke box cranked up, bartenders making sure there were two open seats when we came in. No memory of getting home, hangovers became the norm. God this poem haunts.

..........a great write, my favorite line ★ Isn't it a lovely day, Mr. Bukowski

Wine is fine but whiskey's quicker-John Osborne