an art formed out of frustration and shit-stain
by ThedominiqueofregressioN
what words do i need to put here next?
o yeah right, i just lost an argument today
and i didn't bother speaking out my stand.
speak out what?
speak about how shitty my life
is turning out to be?
i was late at work today
because of the shitty traffic enforcers who
delayed my travel because of their
incompetency on handling the fucked up
traffic
and funny; they make a living out of my taxes.
my fingers wants to explode,
my fists wants to punch a hole out of thin air.
this frustration can't even take a shape of a ball
and so it goes shitting my head all day
is it fair to say i'm doing my best every
single fucking day just to make it through the fire?
bukowski, i imagine your ghost
but i can't tell what would be your reaction.
maybe you'll ignore me like those desperate
writers from the past who sent you their poems
you ignored unless it was a fuckable whore.
you don't give a fuck for what matters most to you is
how well you walk through the fire.
i am walking through the fire.
every day.
every cigarette.
every breath.
every dump.
every piss.
frustration at its finest