the autopsy

This was the doctors’ report-

It was either a heart attack, or cardiac arrest

Because he carried the world aloft his head

And when the throb of the conscience is hard

For a mind of unrest set upon a stormy sea

I think that Michael Jackson had to die

Because fame pleasures the soul least than dust

The rush at which life comes,

Is the rush at which it swiftly returns

The most that a man achieves in spotlight

Is a fall from grace- unto the grave