With simple syrup and burnt boards,
I was able to afford a helpless freak
that figured food meant chili dogs and
an amount of delivered food whose price paid
for only labor and not for flavor.

She would have been my wife,
but instead I let her beat the hell out of my brain
And I can barely write a word down about it.

Gone, but still in the strips of blessed air
Something smells sweet, and smoky.
And alive.
With bands of whirls, swimming in light
Sending smells of warm whisky and acoustic guitar music

I've been used to feeling this way for a while
Not now though
Something feels different and the way the wind
bends light and ideas into form is hopeless now.

Life is a dog
Slugging in dirt and creepy crawlies
Love and black lips
Likes and licks

Deluded in a brooding pit, I brewed a bowl of noodles.
Steeping in a steamy ***, with veggies and egg milk
What made me think I should go on what the
lack of sense of ilk...
So sorry for the lack of pay
So sorry I can stay.
Cause the fact that I eat noodles
Means I can't eat gold today.

I've allowed loudness in my life.
Poor boy.
Poor Chowder.
It's like a firework in a boy's ear.
I'm sorry dude.
I can find a way
To help you
Forget loud noises.
Remember food.

It's seems like somebody left some eggs in the sink
For far too long.
It stinks and I wish I had something to eat
Maybe I'll reheat the spoiled eggs and gnash at them anyway
I'll have it with pickles and whisky
I'll eat over overstained sheets
Repeat, and renounce
My flavorful past
And then last as long as my food

Woody  1m
*******, *******. Your poetry’s lame ****. I wouldn’t take your money to read another line of yours.