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JGuberman Sep 2016
There isn't much left.
That's the way it is sometimes.
You plan and plan
for the day
when there won't be any,
and yet you're still surprised
when there isn't much left
in the end.

My days are not like seven fat cows
or seven skinny ones.
My days are like veal.
They're slaughtered young,
and at night I feast upon them.

Some nights I can sleep contentedly afterwards..
And others,
I lay awake unable to dream at all.

Guilt keeps me awake.
I've become a kosher butcher of time!
Often my own.

That's the way it is sometimes.
There isn't much left.
So I plan and plan
trying to postpone the day
when there won't be any.
Duke Thompson Aug 2014
I hate myself
I've lead a life that a lot of people don't understand
feeling the need compartmentalize my life to the point I don't even know who I am
stopped wanting ***
even now find it crass and crude
just another way for people to use me
afterwards feel see thru and ugly and gross
wilted sunflower to be culled from yr bed
even if mutual with ample loquacious lovers
I curl up in ball
don't let them look at me
in ugly failure skin clown mask
the **** of all yr jokes
'he's great but he's quiet'
talk on

everyone just seems so cruel
I weak like veal
tender for the taking
fry me up
straight from womb to pan
cowards make the best cuts
of wet meat to ****

— The End —