Why must all poetry have deep thought?
Why can’t I sit and write
And speak of what I like.
Personally it’s kind of restricting,
Considering I’m not talented,
I write for fun and no one
in particular
Must I have a rhythm or rhyme?
I suppose I unconsciously must,
As it makes me uncomfortable
When I lack such principle, I lust.
See? I totally forced that rhyme,
At this point rhythm is nonexistent
Is this considered a waste of our time?
Not just mine of course,
But yours the reader.
I sit here and ramble
And you’re still here, eager.
Probably not
Probably thinking,
“What is this guy thinking?”
I didn’t mean to rhyme the same word twice,
Kind of tacky, I know.
Too late now, I’ve moved on.
This has been swell,
I’m not only glad
But surprised at your dedication,
Thanks for listening,
Hopefully you related,
Later

In my simple youth I borrowed much,
My mother made me, yet I protested
I did not wish to miss a beat
I spent it all on simple dreams
No man ever wants nor needs.
I am but a Debtor.

Now I am a man of age
Locked inside a borrower’s cage,
I work to pay my own long bill
I am torpid but cannot be still
I am but a Debtor.

Look at me, a man of old
Still in debt of yet untold
The Sandman beckons me  
I will finally rest at last
I am not a Debtor.

Today I found myself dead
I was rather unimpressed,
I thought it would feel slightly better
To not be so depressed,

But I have known all along
Air flows through me still,
She left me all alone
The clock has time to ****.

Maybe I’m too dramatic
She is nothing to anyone
I still have family, some friends
And compassion for her? None.

I tried to make her listen
To tell of how none care for her,
Yet she makes up another excuse
To simply stay as she were,

She doesn’t deny my claims
Yet believes her strange delusion
Her defense is the same as always
“I’m only human.”