scribbled into something that resembled a diary. Fell out of love all over again. Entered the chemist to better my inconveniences. Nursed my virginity until 24. Wanted to give myself something to talk about in my later ages that (maybe) wait for me.  How about the army, kid. Well what about it. Snowed for the second night in a row. Hair cut, days halved, love overfed, life dulled.

heard you making love to someone nice
heard you making love to someone nice
reading them everything you got
from marx to fryin rice

you think she’d be happy but she’s not
you think she’d be happy but she’s not
no matter what you do,
she’s like that a lot

don't do it, unless you feel a strong urge to compel others to turn around, smile and make a fool of themselves along side the ******* worthiness of the woman who robbed everything of men. a broken heart will sometimes turnover, write and convince others that they too are ******. that the g-d has ****** them. my cigarette hurts from being awake at this hour, talking **** about how you'll quit tomorrow.
you don't see anything other than the orange tinted filter that half-empty glass gives you. it makes everything a little easier to stomach;

thats the first time i've admitted that to myself

dying clay pen, slaved yellow streets, where I often let myself sleep.
sounds from the motorway, sounds like the slave trade.

They say it could be the Bible; the manual on dealing with defeat. Composed on top of Calvary, where they often let me sleep. But they ****** me and kicked me out, at around book thirteen;
- “You’ll never understand, until you’ve fought in World War Three”
My heart is no good, and my hands are tired from fighting; I tricked myself into thinking I was worth something

Sometime in September,  I was invited into deep water whilst my life jacket was on rent. There was a woman on the radio, and an insect on my forehead. I named him a her, confessed purity and stabbed my best friend. Sat under a burning tree, with a woman whose name escapes me. She stands up and leaves. Ah the curse of being useless.
Other than those muddy boots I would wear, I own nothing. And the politicians out on patrol, they have the papers, they have control. My radios screaming still, "we can’t afford the toll"

hey, do you really think that I would leave, if you told me all these things. well I don't think that I can go just yet. you knew that I was ugly and you loved me anyway. well I never was the best at loving you

well I think I need
to treat you better

hey brother, you know I'm leaving. hey mother, I shouldn't be bleeding. but you can say anything, anything you want
and I think I need to treat me better

and I think I need
to treat you better
__

haven't done this before but these are the lyrics to a song of mine (as i'm
a singer/songwriter) you can find it on Spotify or listen here
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1tZwg-X8g&t=20s

i left you. you were ugly.
we heard you playing. i put my ear to the wall.
your naked banjo playing doesn't impress me at all.

you are ugly. and so am i.
we all heard you playing chess, with those other guys.

i am ugly. my banjo is old.
you heard me playing the prayer, to all the cuckolds.

i left you. i'm glad i did.
we're both ugly, i saw you salute.
we are both ugly, so we went and hid.

we are not good looking people
we are not pretty
the beautiful own the harbour
whilst the ugly drown at sea
here comes jesus
there's numbers on his wrists
someone beautiful put him in cages
and the ugly set him free
drinking bay leaves
painting the moon
i've aged 26 hours
and it's only noon
the ugly have plans
there's words between dockers
but is drowned out by the ceiling fan
put zeus on this pedestal
he prefers to be naked
people say he's beautiful
but we wish he wore aprons
the dockers said they're
bored of men explaining things
and bored of being sinned
tell the communists to take my sign
they'll fit right in
veins on the windows
theres faces on the walls
of which, i don't recognise at all
the communists stand in solidarity  
with the ugly drowned at sea
tell zeus to be a woman
and jesus will set them free

woman with a fold away bike, a fold away life, a stolen orange book. a throw-away hat, a collapsing body. woman with a fold away bike, a mans love, some old muddy boots. a fold away wedding, a tired accent. woman with a fold away bike, kindly sleeps over, mothers children. raise a little cain, a dead father. woman with a fold away bike

you have her ears
she tucked hair behind them too
her songs were kind of like that
but she only had a few

she's been gone now
but i'll see her sometime soon
you've painted the clock face
and it's always noon

she left at 1pm
over the phone
she had her heart open
but you couldn't afford the toll