I used to be a poet

I used to be a poet, the thoughts
Escaped from where they'd gone again,
I used to be a poet when I was younger,
But now, with words stirring but
Hardly rising, angels with broken wings,
Now I cannot raise my head, a burden
Laid across my back, I used to be,
But I think too much on a distant
Past, I used to be, and now I'm not,
And it's not something that I find
I deeply regret, I think on it with
Some relief, I used to love my words,
The images that were painted with black
Ink, now I am a capitalist, I dream
Only of material things, dollar bills,
And traffic signs blurring as I pass,
I live my life a quarter of a mile at
At a time, and in my head I can hear
Dean quietly advise, I live fast, die
Young, and leave as that time comes,
A good looking corpse.