They don't make it <br />the beautiful die in flame- <br />suicide pills, rat poison, rope what- <br />ever... <br />they rip their arms off, <br />throw themselves out of windows, <br />they pull their eyes out of the sockets, <br />reject love <br />reject hate <br />reject, reject. <br /> <br />they don't make it <br />the beautiful can't endure, <br />they are butterflies <br />they are doves <br />they are sparrows, <br />they don't make it. <br /> <br />one tall shot of flame <br />while the old men play checkers in the park <br />one flame, one good flame <br />while the old men play checkers in the park <br />in the sun. <br /> <br />the beautiful are found in the edge of a room <br />crumpled into spiders and needles and silence <br />and we can never understand why they <br />left, they were so <br />beautiful. <br /> <br />they don't make it, <br />the beautiful die young <br />and leave the ugly to their ugly lives. <br /> <br />lovely and brilliant: life and suicide and death <br />as the old men play checkers in the sun <br />in the park. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Charles Bukowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whats-the-use-of-a-title/
