Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Another Crappy "Poem"

Closed in, surrounded by threads
of wasted money, wasted talent, wasted love.
Cotton; the fabric of our wasted lives.
I haven't washed these threads since you left
It makes it feel like you're still with me.
Empty Diet Coke cans leave a trail of acidic tears
A reminder of my acidic taste, my acidic fear.
Though love is won & lost & won again, my heart
refuses to beat. It lays still, waiting to strike.
I can still remember your smell... your lack of
bathing likely to blame. I still need to wash my pillow,
but I feel closer to you this way.
It's certainly to late to pick my poison.

And maybe, I wonder, just maybe, if I drink this bottle of
wine, I won't feel sad anymore.
The only thing I'm "not feeling" anymore is my face.
Shame, since that's the only good thing about me.
Just kidding, I get a lot of compliments about my dick personality dick.
And one day, I hope, one day, I'll be able to finish something I've

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