Why are they so fiddly?
My shaky hands enquire,
as I delve more greedily,
in my roaring fire,
a blaze of rage and glory,
both taken and received,
a very mortal story,
both the truth and deceived,
back to trembling mitts,
that berates all designs,
of things that should assist,
and not give me warning signs,
too many times, it occurs,
things aren’t user friendly,
to their makers, they give purrs,
thanking hands, so gently,
but life, is a storm,
not a still landscape,
a picture that is ripped and torn,
the fact we can’t escape,
as I can’t fix my cistern,
behind your marbled top,
and my computer system,
talks jargon, makes me stop,
and, like a fleshling robot,
I’m a zombie to my phone,
as with certain tools forgot,
I’m in angry zone,
for all these call out charges,
are a lack of consideration,
contracts turned discharges,
will make a ghost nation,
such a seething sentence,
from him, a clumsy man,
he\'s not build for maintenance,
makes him such a scam,
so, instead of breaking windows,
he should be happy with his lot,
to breathe, as the wind blows,
before they choose his plot.