#crouch
I do not want to argue anymore
Show me the way to the door
I would rather slum it surfing couch to couch
Than hide from life as I slack and slouch
Look down upon from your self-righteous horse
Insults hurled til your voice is hoarse
And "wouldn't you feel bad if I died?"
As if unaware of how I feel inside
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 9:45 PM UTC
Too much of a fool
Forgotten and misplaced
Troubled until bled
Where is my bed?
The cushion increasing sedation
Upon my relapse
Frail
Almost skeleton
Reminds me of Auschwitz
Though I'm not a Jew
Or a so-called "deviant"
I'm recast
Believing in the brew
Gulping up the stew
Ready, set...implode
Film is shot
Grainy and poor
Full to the brim with fish
Smelly and grimy
Waiting for the director
To bail from comprehensive casting
His retort is strong
Like a solemn wind
Quiet until the storm
I quit
Remember the time
Forced to sing
I hate acting
Forgetting
Contemplating
It is my curse
Unforgotten desire
My Dunkirk of woe
When will it end?
Upon my cross
Submission without *******
Freewill intact
Instinct going into purgatory
Left to wait for the call
I have to run
Hide
Devise an escape
Hollywood calls
Controls
Beckons for my crouch
Billy Wilde is my name
Focused on terror
I fail to be Brando
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC