Sep 2015
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
'cause she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting back-riding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and Iām feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day that you'll hold me and say
I was always the THE ONE that you wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweat-pool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
'cause she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting back-riding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and Iām feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day that you'll hold me and say
I was always the THE ONE that you wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweat-pool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
