But as I reach for a piece, All I get's the blues.
******' last piece, Man, My last taste of silence My last taste of solitude
I chew to black out the yous and the whos
Who am I really, when there's none left to chew ******' last piece, what the **** am I supposed to do?
****, ******, burn it all in hell I've nothing left to say, that would say it as well.
I've got no sanity left I don't know who I am Delving into darkness, That last piece, again! I'm reminded of my shame I'm reminded of the agony Where's my last ******' piece?
I swore it was in front of me.
I'm writing poems based off of suggestions on Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook. The prompt was: The existential crisis of running out of gum one hour into an eight hour shift.