Okay, when I shuffle off this earthly folly you'll not be hearing from me unless you attend a spiritualist church.
Naturally
tranquillised or
desensitised by
outside interference
and here
around the circumference
I'm being discussed in
some great conference
by authors of the
intifada
a guard rail and thank god for it
stops me from falling into shit creek
next week I may not be so lucky
as the outcome of said conference
might just be about to fuck me.
and anyway these people kill me
every day I lose a little more of the
will I owned and many times before
I die
I'll die and die until even death turns around and asks me, why oh fucking why?
I shall overdose
go comatose
I suppose that's what
they'd like to see, but
being me I won't,
I'll stick around to be a
constant thorn
make them fuckers wish
to have not be born
I can be a bitch. a butch
a screaming Lord fucking Such
and if you don't know that
you don't know me.
- Author: thirdtimelucky (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: October 5th, 2017 09:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.