No more sleazy temptress,
no more groupies,
you’re lock-stock out of luck
if you think you’ll
get you claws in me.
No more easy riders,
no more floozies,
you’re down-out in the dark
if you want to
take a piece of me.
No more black-out nights,
no more STDs,
played with fire too many times
to think that it’s
good for me.
No more endless nightfall,
no more moneyed hearts,
it’s rock-bottom taking toll
on a man who’s
already pushed too far.
No more fake award shows,
no more bastard art
it’s rot-gut soulless stuff
fully deserving
of those single stars.
No more mindless chatter,
no more watching charts
it’s fool’s gold draining soul
from a man
with little left to start.
It’s time to go.
-
Author:
David Welch (
Offline) - Published: August 8th, 2026 17:56
- Comment from author about the poem: Check out my books on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B008RP0672
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A great description of a star life. Well done
Damn, David...this reads like the morning after an entire way of life. The glamour has worn off, the illusions aren’t working anymore, and what remains is the realization that continuing carries too high a price. That ending lands with tremendous finality. Brilliant work, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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