jeffery and me

Jeffery the Giraffe is on methadone last year he was in a k-hole dusted up and shootin dope pissin himself in an alley, all alone even he doesn't know what his own soul was thinking lost in the shadows and the shit puked out from what he was drinking while the rest of the world continued he was sinking from time to time awake enough to remind himself to stop do another line and then forget what he'd just thought at least now he can keep a steady job a little bit less of a slob and he feels like he's ready to move on maybe do something right this time around irrelevance takes on a whole new meaning now I never really knew the guy and I don't know why but his path has crossed mine a couple of times and I always seem to find something to be fascinated by about him curiosities enter my mind perhaps he is my muse and maybe I should use some more of his self-abuse as fuel for my fire my desire to remain inspired requires attention and time to be sacrificed it demands all and doesn't play nice mysterious and proud and I wonder out loud what Jeffery will be doing a year from now will he blend with the other faces in the crowd or go back to the alley defeated with plenty of mistakes to be repeated much like everyone else will he break free like he wants or wind up right back in Hell it's so hard to tell so strange i feel i know him so well as if he's a part of my self yet his life is a book on my shelf we're so detached perhaps reality's coming back why invent such a history with a damn giraffe