The deterioration of a comedian

You’re coming undone. Aren’t you? I remember when you wheeled me out on that clothesline and I dropped into the mud puddle. It was a laugh, a joke, but this isn’t. We’re losing you to someone else’s dream, to the image of the sports star, to the storm kicked up by the greedy business world, to the lonely wind whistling through your $250 dollar rims.

I don’t know what to say because I’ve never been good with words from my mouth. They get choked behind images of you and me; me on my spring loaded horse, us on the porch, your hand rested on my little head. I’m still as clueless to the ways of the world as I was then because people aren’t always real, most of the time they’re just one dimensional cut outs that you can have your picture taken with at the carnival of life. All I can say is don't be angry. Come back in off the stoop. It is icy and covered with snow and you will fall. I don’t want to see you fall…