push the bullet in

converted his words into zeroes and ones
hunched over, they were his gift to the beyond.
he was still giddy at being let in the circle,
becoming privy to words so wise and witty.

but of late he couldn't help but notice
he received fewer glances from colleagues in hallways.
a sudden drought of pleasantries usually spelt out
demotion from peer to peasantry.

now the drought had hit his studio home,
his letters and calls all seemed to dry up at once.
he wrote his friends to ask them why and was
hit with an avalanche of out of office replies.

the very next day in a blind panic he burnt
all of his years of degenerate work.
it was too late. the word was out.
round up all moaners and misfits.

he must have missed this.
between mither about free shit
and that mess in the kitchen.

on the afternoon when they finally caught up to him,
held his skinny wrists and pushed every bullet in,
his thoughts remained fixed on a mysterious list
of a various faux-pas and their respective dire consequences.