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GL Thompson Sep 2017
onto September
and still alone
And yet I'm here sitting by the phone
People look, people stare
I tell myself I don't care
Do nothing but ******* despair
Because I'll I've ever wanted is right there
And yet I'll spend my days in bed
Living in a constant dread
Afraid of what's been and what's to come
Keeping everyone happy.
But who's the one who's really staking a claim?
Something's going grand it's beyond belief
Don't kid yourself and keep the receipt.
No matter how many chances you get
No matter who you meet
The finish line will still retreat
Luck of the draw
And you've pulled the short straw.
Onto October.
With everything in tatters
Is there anything that really matters?
GL Thompson Jun 2017
Young Robert clambered from his bed,
This bonny boy, the town smack head.
He drew the curtains, struggling to find his wits,
The death of his brother had made him turn to this, in bits.
Dressed in clothes not changed for a week,
He slowly wandered down the street
Looking for things to rob, dear and cheap.
As he pondered the Edinburgh crowd,
He began to think all were sheep
Stuck in societies pleasures, but little did they know
of the everlasting euphoria that comes with narcota
In the godforsaken rain, wind or snow.
And young Robert, or Bobby to his mates
Was nothing but doomed, funded by the state.

— The End —