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He doesn't know what his purpose is. Does he even have one? Is he a giver? A taker? What is it? All he does now is wash dashes in a nasty restaurant with cheap, foamy soap that barely cleans the dishes. Not that anyone would notice that. He doesn't want to live this way forever, But his bad luck is ceaseless. There's no way that something good would happen to him. At least not in this life.
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May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
5.25.17
He doesn't know what his purpose is. Does he even have one? Is he a giver? A taker? What is it? All he does now is wash dashes in a nasty restaurant with cheap, foamy soap that barely cleans the dishes. Not that anyone would notice that. He doesn't want to live this way forever, But his bad luck is ceaseless. There's no way that something good would happen to him. At least not in this life.
I used four random words to create this poem. Purpose, giver, foamy, and ceaseless. Hope you like.
KeeKee
Written by
26/F
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
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