Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
No one even asks what I'm doing these days, and it's obvious they don't care. I want to wash my hands of these people; I come from a family of fist fighters, and forgiveness is like a cardinal sin. **** even I'm still bitter about the **** Even I still get upset at the thoughts. My lover wraps her arms around me and I radiate this ******** into her. Every time. Sleeping next to me is dirtier than sleeping in any grave. This dirt farmer can't wash his hands or his mind, he isn't a fist fighter or a loud talker, he won't let the easy things slide, and even six feet into this hole, this dirt farmer is still digging.
0
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
"Dirt Farmer."
No one even asks what I'm doing these days, and it's obvious they don't care. I want to wash my hands of these people; I come from a family of fist fighters, and forgiveness is like a cardinal sin. **** even I'm still bitter about the **** Even I still get upset at the thoughts. My lover wraps her arms around me and I radiate this ******** into her. Every time. Sleeping next to me is dirtier than sleeping in any grave. This dirt farmer can't wash his hands or his mind, he isn't a fist fighter or a loud talker, he won't let the easy things slide, and even six feet into this hole, this dirt farmer is still digging.
austin-heath
Written by
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem