and for the record,
no one thinks they're pretty
when they rain

so cry your ****** heart out,
and snort around the trough
whilst you’re covered
in mud.

Just let it all remind you
why this poem is
absolutely pointless.

And so are you,
and so am I,
and so is your dog
you love so much.

Because all we know
is the point in which
you start breathing,

and that eventually
you’re going to stop too,

so do something decent
with the middle
won’t you?

may aswell x

I would do almost anything
for you

Except watching the door
clip the back of your bags

knowing I could have done
something about it.

If you've never been in one,
the irony of
road traffic accidents
is this:

You see them all the time,
hear about them everyday,
you drive past the wreckage
engulfed in flames

yet, they'll never happen to you,

...right?

my mother would tell me:
'Don't rest on your laurels,
for tomorrow isn't promised.'

and I guess she had a point.

I wonder what all
the greats would
think of this generation

and how their
morality

only goes as far
as the
breakfast
table

before it
eats itself.