Lost and Found in the Afterlife
I own a T-shirt with bullet holes. I picked it up at a Thrift Store.
It's not easy wearing a dead man's clothes.
There is one hole in the heart, the other in the chest bone.
I hope to go to heaven, then I'll return the dead man's shirt. Wave down a punk saint, ask if they know a Dead Cool Cat who prays for his old clothes.
If he's down in hell, I estimate I can find him just as well.
An afterlife, who's to know? An eternal journey? Or the walk of a nothing man?
For now it's summertime. An air conditioned shirt with bullet holes suits me fine. It matches my blue jeans ripped and torn at the knees.
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