Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2
The odd word sometimes slips out
I mean nothing by it
It's just human instinct
I say what I mean in the passions of such clout
Then sorry
Or am I?
Get a grip woman,
It's just a word that instinctively rolled from my mouth
Well if you don't like this then see me when drunk
I'll tear you to pieces
I'll shatter your dreams
And leave this room dirtier than that of a skunk
Spraying the kerbside with thoughts of a madman
Speaking such truths
Littering the graves of such inbuilt angst
Whilst wittering away and dancing the can-can
Dont try and stop me as this is my food
Living on this tribal urge
The surrounding men have given up their surge
So sorry for being so rude.
John Bartholomew
Written by
John Bartholomew  39/M
Please log in to view and add comments on poems