don't kid yourself:
something kills them all-
finally it becomes a matter of
dying of one thing or
the other-
the swollen belly children
go the way of famine,
the young men give in
to glory of war
silver haired women
yesterdays muses
fade and crumble to dust
for want of love
the memories of spring
and sex and song
and sonnet all that
is left
blue teens kill red ones
and gravy took my old man
and only a promise made
to someone last week
keeps me from drinking myself
to death
Same blog: third name- I can't help myself. Same kind of stuff; a little poetry, a little prose, a little drunkalogue. Some adult themes, and language. Good Times.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
sad
I drunk call
an old friend
I am sad
I say
Why
she asks
why are you
sad
I tell her
about my shit
things I think
that would
make one
sad
lies
she is sympathetic
caring
I feel less
sad
but I havent
written
anything in weeks
and I think
I am dying
an old friend
I am sad
I say
Why
she asks
why are you
sad
I tell her
about my shit
things I think
that would
make one
sad
lies
she is sympathetic
caring
I feel less
sad
but I havent
written
anything in weeks
and I think
I am dying
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