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twoweekbenderPoems
I think My tolerance for ******** Has reached its breaking point. Now I spend my lunch hours Squirreled away in the smoking room Lost in tunes Locked in with my thoughts Scarfing down One cigarette after another And writing these ****** poems. I don't care to hear About the inanities of your sad lives. It's all so bleak. I feel most alone in a crowd. I suppose We all have our ways Of coping With the affliction of life. Many seek refuge In the mindless chatter of sheep Others find their release Balls-deep in a wet hole Or tasting blood and sweat In the boxing ring Or the warm, comforting embrace Of alcohol. Such blissful escape, all of them. So what's wrong With the hallowed cloisters Of my mind? **** the lot of you With your petty dramas ******* hypocrisies ******* noises Summoning up The vilest contempt Slumbering in me. I am enough.
0
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
Introvert
I think My tolerance for ******** Has reached its breaking point. Now I spend my lunch hours Squirreled away in the smoking room Lost in tunes Locked in with my thoughts Scarfing down One cigarette after another And writing these ****** poems. I don't care to hear About the inanities of your sad lives. It's all so bleak. I feel most alone in a crowd. I suppose We all have our ways Of coping With the affliction of life. Many seek refuge In the mindless chatter of sheep Others find their release Balls-deep in a wet hole Or tasting blood and sweat In the boxing ring Or the warm, comforting embrace Of alcohol. Such blissful escape, all of them. So what's wrong With the hallowed cloisters Of my mind? **** the lot of you With your petty dramas ******* hypocrisies ******* noises Summoning up The vilest contempt Slumbering in me. I am enough.
twoweekbender
Written by
twoweekbender
M
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
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