Hey Philip, where are your parents now
It was only my mother, that ****** me up too
Confused, with numerous dads, sharing familiar punches.

Or the possibility of that imaginary smell for bullies
the big, big boys, who lack individuality
that goes hand in hand with small *****

Or
The old ugly girls that continue to be stranger than strange

It's disabling, but there no fear inn being alone
I remove the dust off my books,
Searching familiar verses, of miseries for crazy men.
In turn, no purpose reminds me of youth
Life possesses no great ideas
Over twenty years, colliding against the  sink