"boozer" poems
Take a butchers at this me old Chinas.
Slip ya Plates o' Meat into ya Jacks,
brew up a nice cup o' Rosy,
and if you haven't got a Scooby what I'm on about,
feel free to fire me off a Jimmy Nail
and tell me it's a load of old cobblers.
Can you Adam an' Eve it,
I left me Dog 'n' Bone on the Apples
and when I went to call the Trouble 'n' Strife
some joker had Half-Inched it.
But that's not the worst of it.
When I got back to the Cat and Mouse
she'd done a bunk in me shiny new Jam Jar.
I couldn't believe me Pork Pies!
So here I am all on me Todd,
me only transport a ****** old **** van ****
Gordon Bennett!
I'm goin' down the ****** for a few Britneys,
gonna get totally Brahms and List
and blow a big fat raspberry at the whole thing.
Tomorrow's another bale 'o' hay.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
I know the feeling
I feel the pain
Look outside
******* pouring rain
The days are dull
And all the same
So ******* boring
So mundane
The only excitement
Is two days of rest
When you’re alone
You get it off your chest
You go to the ******
And drown your sorrows
And ******* pray
It’s not Monday tomorrow
We fought for freedom
Now we’re under the thumb
Pay your ******* taxes
And work till your numb
But don’t you worry
You’ll get your time
Just work for 70 years
And you’ll be just fine
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?
-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin.
Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh?
-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Well it's a hell of a feeling and a sour deal.
Hangover wreaks havoc apon my gut.
Numb my thoughts to everything i feel.
She's got her reason's I got mine.
Hours between us.
Sunrise please dont find me sobber.
Or leave me busted near that florida state line.
Drinking with the devil satan give me such heck.
My life's a play.
My soul a well thought out trainwreck.
Well big hip gal wont ya warm this bed.
Cause ya know tommorows a gift.
So let's do something to remind tombstone
he isn't yet dead.
Work that back sugar dont think twice.
Little gals may be the norm.
But thoose sticks break so easy and thoose big gals
just feel so nice.
Southern are my ways New York's far from my mind.
Todays a scratch.
So thats why im leaving my wicked past behind.
Smoked and drank tonights pay.
Big gal i love ya.
But as for a drifters soul and me ya know i can never stay.
Found my troubles in mean angry eye's knocked
thoughts apon the deck.
My life's a gamble.
As in the rhymes of a full tome ****** and a
well thought trainwreck.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:16 PM UTC
you vile of lust,
contained liquid belligerence.
how you instigate my future regrets
in all senses of the term.
burning away boredom at best,
a touch of carelessness and freedom.
and at worst causing obsession
with my failure to pursue desire.
faux self-confidence and heightened hopes.
its just pretend time for adults.
like sliding into dreams
unconsciously without meaning
and while i try to resist
all the impulses and reactions,
it makes me feel natural
like anything can happen
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
on a dark desert highway, hot fart-wind in my hair
with a warm smell of diarrheoa rising up through the air
I was scared of pant-crapping on that starry starry night
my belly heavy and my sphincter groaned in pain
I had to stop for a *****
there she stood in the doorway, the receptionist from hell,
and I was thinking to myself what a ******* smell,
then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
I rushed into the bathroom shrieking, hey,
I need to pump it out.
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
now my bot is oozing brownly, it's got the mercedes bends;
I'd better wash it for the sake of her pretty boy friends
dancing in the courtyard, k-y jelly in their pockets,
some dancing in the **** some in their jockeys.
so I called up the waiter, please bring a bucket of wine;
he said: we haven't had such a ****** here since eighteen forty nine,
and then I got hold of this cute looking guy
who was a ******* great fairy
and he showed me his **** so hairy
probably laiden with a.i.d.s. ....
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Another day of long hours ahead for me
Good morning gorgeous!
Read your full disclosure and I admire you even more.
Whoever said all creative people suffer from manic or
clinical depression was out of their minds because you don't.
You prove you don't need to be depressed to write.
Like the you don't smoke and you are no ******
You are careful what you put in your body
I know you don't do drugs.
The more I get to know about you the more the butterflies
in my stomach tell me I'm right.
You read that part right.
I still have butterflies when I think of you
but at the same time I feel at ease when we on net chat.
Big confession coming up.
I've always wanted someone like you in my life.
A woman who's gorgeous, highly intelligent, has her
**** together, doesn't cake on make up, has confidence,
loves herself and life, laughs at life and herself, doesn't bore
the hell out of me with drama and much more.
Quite frankly I've always wanted a woman
other women hate and she makes them feel insecure.
That's the woman that has confidence and can
enter a room alone without being self-conscious.
That's how I know you're the woman for me.
Your stalker has been freed but you are not in hiding
I commend you for taking your power back.
I'm guessing you are set to stand your ground if necessary.
I mentioned your name and they know of you
mainly from what they've heard from friends.
Hope you don't mind they did a Google search.
I didn't tell them we were dating it's how my parents are.
They can tell when I'm interested in a lady.
With your images on screen my dad agrees
with me. You are gorgeous!
My mom said "I haven't seen anything
that lovely in a long time!"
My folks have unprejudiced hearts like me
and yourself and would love meeting you.
Bringing them out to hear you when you
tell me you will be singing.
Hoping you will feel more at ease with my parents
sitting at the table and we finally have a real life
conversation longer than me telling
you how amazing your singing is.
Hope your meeting with your producer went well.
You venturing out in bad weather speaks volumes
about your dedication to what you do.
The more I know about you Betty Ponder
the hungrier I am to learn more.
I have no doubt you would never keep me
waiting for an hour for lack of something to wear.
.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
Sara L Russell 6/3/13 16:18
Just look at him, sitting in the corner
Hogging the remote control
Seemingly so deaf but he can hear us when he likes
Leaves such a mess around the toilet bowl
Just look at him stagger to the ******
Just because we've hidden all the *****
He remembers where to drink but can't remember where he lives
Maybe a nursing home will help him choose
Look at that poor old man sat in the corner
He had no visitors again today
He sings all the old songs but doesn't quite recall his name
And never seems to have a lot to say.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
~~~
Tis a gladness found in sadness
mostly pleasure
wince of pain
From an odor round the barroom
none the boys could e'er explain
Like a billowed line of washin'
after gentle fallen rain
Tis the wail of spring befallin'
on a barfly
oh ... the shame
~
Lo
there's homework
I'm the tender
to a list of things that broke
Ere the boss be sharing surely
words no poet ever spoke
Lazy good for nothing ******
paint the fence and fix the gate
You want a pint ... you must be kidding
Plow the forty ... 'fore it's late
~
Down the misty path of memories
thoughts of Kelsey's brew appears
In a vision almost godly
round a table rests my peers
And no memory tarries longer
forceful
clearer
sweeter
stronger
than ol' Kelsey pouring liquor at the bar
I sheds a tear
~
Summer sadness tans bare shoulders
to replace the winter's shun
And the kids each day
they greet me ... Morning Dad
YOUR IT ... then run
Lord
I never knew that Heaven
'twas the place beyond my wall
Till I heard my children laugh
while toasting mallows in the fall
~
Though breath of Heaven
washed the aftertaste
of Kelsey's from my life
And forever I'll be holding ... dear
new memories
with my wife
I am angered at the sign
that hangs atop ol' Kelsey's door
. . . NO BARFLIES . . .
. . . CASH RESPECTED . . .
~
Sure
His wife now runs the bar
~~~
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
*Jonquil rain bar approach , delta method
time beau stargazer in earnest
Fine line arcadian pest derecho , pinpoint
waiver unit substitution Jericho
Albamarle sinister unit torrid recuser perpetuity
cisco propulsion Easter wig nam propulsion
Archangel rock deliver jetsam
Harold ****** sonic shift mercury wind bag space
candidate turquoise nine beam analyzer Sinbad nine
Winder ground archer nine sound pet neighbor tyrant
dime loser terrier loose figment stroller ten nimbus*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
This is somewhat of a surreal writing and so is the title
well here goes...
Foolin' around with chaos
Kickin' at the cosmos
Not quite known' where
my left foot and right foot
really belong
Wondren' if the stains
in my undershorts
are the results
of nicotine
Imaginin' the Philly goliath
clothing statue around 15th and Market
constructed to clamp
onto Willys Nose
Wittnessin' the "Parkin' Authority"
rhythmically writin' on pads
their violation ticket songs
to the quarter meters of cash flow
Drizzly watchin'
The multitude of "Ben Hurs"
precariously skim
and fly around the corner
at 16th and Market headin' north And
seekin' self-infliction
by seriously
tellin' a waitress
that she really serves the best food in town. And
salutin' every Admiral dressed doorman
that I pass. Then later,
overhearin' a good "Samaritan"
tell a street ******
that four roses
can also be sniffed as well
Thoughts of Christ
nailed to the " Charles Schwab" edifice
with a thorny looking crown
made from antiquated ticker tape
His side pierced by
piggy bank breakers,
and the outpouring of green inscriptions
that state, " In God we trust."
All these things
race through the squeaking
reels of my mind already
corroded by seen corruption as a
passing Krishna group's chant permeates
the thick city air
And an unnoticed dying dove raises
its quivering right wing
as if in a last salute to peace
And all too well I know,
how the city devours its youth
like Goya's " Saturn Devouring his Son"
All too soon, in the sunlight
of my benevolent youthfulness within,
a chilled blanket of knowing about ignorance
overwhelms me
Tormented by indefinable tormentor,
The love-lust for life diminishes
and captured by surrounding greed
and torn asunder
Driven away, sitting in Rittenhouse Square,
touched by two lovers
as squirrels
scamper playfully
over dead dried
Autumn leaves...
...that crackle...
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
February 13th 2014
I had a full moon in my sign,
So I read it as a sign,
That my entire body spirit and soul,
Was vibrating for a **** reason, and
God - no matter how many times
He has ****** me - he has his
God **** Reasons. He isn’t even
Selfish enough to call them his
Own. That’s my god, that my mind
That my big gig my spirit in the sky.
It’s not nothing that is happening.
If I am regretting, opening
My chakras, and consciousness
That’s too bad because, there is no going
Back, nor forward, nor present
Because I presently believe.
And let me make it clear I no longer believe
in regret.
Miles away from here,
I will never question where I have to go.
A body disconnected from a mind disconnected
From a soul, teeters in the balance of regret
Because trying to get fit is not fitting in
Fit has been inhibition
Latent, and lamented
With sin.
Simply put, make healthy decisions.
Speak freely, and confessions
Are easy to make.
My entire life I have felt like a loser
A Bukowski like ****** -with no 'hoosier'
Like talents. So if tales are not spoken
About you when you die
remember
Like Bukowski’s one of us down here
He wouldn’t be sober either;
Am I the tourist/hitchhiker
That turns Hunter S. Thompson
Down on a hit of ether?
I am wise not with wisdom but wise with beer.
Health is about balance, and that balance
Is my edge.
Either which way, I admire my brain.
I didn’t sit down planning to write
this and if I could explain I would
put it in a book.
Look,
If I publish anything soon I would be
Just as worried
As you are?
Would I pigeon hole and sewer
My lifelong friends or would I
Expose deep dark secrets
That could de-rail my “Hoosier” inspired
Career?
I fear yes.
But I also fear no-
Body would read them.
My trash masterpiece
Will be self published
And hidden in discount book bins
Across North America
With a sticker on it reading
“This is free for a reason”
And its not because I don’t need
money to survive,
but because I do need love
to do so.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
Lived in a small village
Of which we will see
A fair way from town
But someone to be
Aiming to try and understate
To understand not undermine
And to be free
To pick up a road through the town
Into work
Into office or ****** or
Library shop
Newspaper round and cinema
Ironmonger and motor
Someone's sister had a car
She parked on the hill
She was *** in her car
In short skirt tight shirt
Jacket on her back
Made of leather
Lined with fur
Ringed hands knuckled on her wheel
And her ankle’s playing with a
Buckle on the other side
Of the battered skin of a
Leather boot bearing no
Resemblance to the boot
Creaking under toes of
The other foot
Her knees are never static like
A spark is never still though always in one place
Tight up in her skirt
Sitting in the low seat
With the car's door open
A new song on the radio
And the blues in her heart
© scribler 2004
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 4:35 AM UTC
For all my tales of braggery
I am the eloquent loser.
Out of thousands of choices
I will pick the ******
The liar, the layabout or thief.
Then starts my florid tales
Designed to mask my grief.
I list the virtues of the guy,
The Prince Charming I caught
And talk about his attributes
None of which he has got.
I treat him like aristocracy
Even though he never works.
My friends wonder how I can
Align myself with such a ****
So, that means more stories
To extoll his many talents
Even though he has so few
To brag about on balance.
I keep thinking my eloquence
Will overcome his character,
His many alluring facets
Or lack of which whatsoever.
It’s sad the lengths I have gone
Trying not to be so alone.
I have been accused of being
Like a dog with a favorite bone
In my attempts to justify
The awful choices I have taken.
But I don’t listen, I only talk
Any advice is all forsaken.
That’s how it goes with me
If I can explain things away,
Like Scarlett, I'll think about it
Maybe on some other day.
Maybe then I'll finally understand
Why I do what I always do.
But we eloquent losers don’t care
So very much what is true.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
It's late at night
Is it here alone
I have the right
To think of the scores I've blown
I'll bear in quiet what has been sone
A ****** riot
It was no fun.
I think of the time I was a loser
When I could not rhyme
I was a ******
Or the time I couldn't get the joke.
For the crime of having too many tokes
Life I'm afraid in my mind's eye
Like a hazy parade has passed me by
I knew it I insist but now it's lost
The world turns in its usual way
My mind sojourns to that foggy day
For I'm afraid it's kind of like a groping
Looking at the parade with one eye open.
But who cares what has happened in the past
For now my thoughts are coming fast
And I reall do have to wonder.
If the anesthetic was such a blunder.
For the world is too much to take at one time
The city awaits people are full of crime
Man's inhumanity to man is prevalent
I can't think of one thought that is benevolent
So I'll just slow down this runaway train
That happens to be my brain
Sometimes my thoughts are less than kind
Such are the workings of my mind
So to be sure I'll take the cure
With which I'm really hoping
Forgive me for saying this
The world is sometimes easier to take
With only one eye open.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
how to fix your tortured organs:
writhe in bed first,
for 2-3 hours, then
eat and drink until you
throw up everything.
that's the best part.
the body ceases shaking violently
and you can sleep without
writhing.
when you wake, you can eat again.
finn and jake will take care of the rest.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Every time
I hear of one more,
it reminds me of my grandmother,
lost deep inside the bottle,
she whittled away to nothing
& died from an exploding liver.
Sadly for us, just another
born-again ******
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
I have always trusted you despite the burnt flowers that I saw. We've eaten together in lonely parks with broken spoons and we've walked on the same path that had no excuse but to let us make a move. The hurricane of troubles and tsunami of dissatisfaction that tend to sweep away our allegiance will forever remain cursed. And any finger pointing at the soul that holds the truth will doubtlessly be broken for the fear of expression. Fake people will always be like dead horses, more like written off ferraris. No rerun needed to prove all I'm saying is pure victory, and when I wake with the sun in the morning, I hope my words will radiate with the rays in a prose that will make you understand that I still love and care. Tonight the moon fell between my feet and I thought maybe nature was cracking a joke. Hand on my chin then pondered! I pondered like in my brain wild flowers were sprouting, then something like a plague, but with a sensation of a neglected wise notion which flashed before my cerebrum and decoded itself as wisdom, then in a shimmering technique took captive of my thoughts about you, then transmuted every idea to a loving feeling ready to be expressed in a manner that will never run out of style just like champagne to a ******
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
In the department called
freedom of
expression,
where the language is quite
Anglo Saxon
there's no room for the weak
or for those who
don't curse when they speak or
describe most emphatically
and graphically detail each
****** function.
An adage in old age is, **** them,
the men down in Whitehall with
no ***** for billiards and
the bankers who spank us with
high rates and interest
can fester away and
testing each day as it comes are
the bums and the drop outs queuing
for hot tea and handouts
and **** them too.
To be free to express is a gift,
nonetheless one we must use
with a modicum of
compassion but the fashion today
is to curse the **** away
and each expletive pronounced only comes back to flaunt or to flounce and there's not an ounce of common sense in the pretense I may feign by reigning my words and refraining from swearing, I
say
**** 'em again.
If I hang I'll hang well and stink to high hell and that's one way to express what a god **** awful mess
we're all in.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
A poster of a roller coaster
Gifted to my master
An imposer, a loser
A big fat ******
Who sits to compile
His work yet piles
A hopeless composer
None goes to imply any closer
Ignores his work, coz he's a dozer
In the crowd, stands near girls
Like a model poser
Taken me in, he's my foster
He knows I hate seafood
Yet he orders lunch, oyster
Makes me do all hardwork
He's nothing but a monster
Walks in the alley like a crooked lobster
O' he's a pain in my head
How I've ended up with this aged promstar
Dances on his own compositions, he thinks he's a rockstar!
©sim
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
He has a degree in bait and switch
He’s a devious, deceitful sumbitch;
He’s a human hound dog,
A trash talking fat hog,
Ready with a phony smile
And he has been for a while.
Happily taking britches off of *******
If she’s not too fussy with her *****
Because by gum and dagnab.
That’s the first thing he’ll grab.
As crazy as a lifelong ******
He thinks a nice guy is a loser.
He reverses what he says each day
And if you catch him he’ll always say
He blames it on Obama and Jews,
On Democrats and fake news.
He changes his mind on a whim
Thinks nobody is as good as him.
We need to mention how ugly he got.
His appearance seems to be all rot.
He’s made of pure grease
That keeps him so obese
Still he claims he is as trim
As guys half the size of him.
He got started by his daddy’s dough
Back a flashy half century or so
He has very little taste
Most of his life was a waste.
Every business he touches
Ends up walking on crutches.
Why is his image with so secure?
He’s not a decent man for **** sure.
An adulterer and a predator
Treats his wives like competitors
Who are blocking his limelight
And should be hidden from sight.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
I brag about my prowess
But I’m really a big mess.
The truth is I’m coasting
Nearly roasting in the fire,
The one I lit when younger
Full of burning desire
And right down to the wire
I hid, lied, swindled me
Double-handedly, as if
There was a rift between
Myself and the truth.
This was my youth.
I believed lies I was told
If I liked them better than truth;
I was such a shallow youth
And the swindlers could see
When I was coming down the road
They’d load me on with their stories
About what great glories lie
In putting people down so
i could rise as high as the sky
With just a little lie or two.
How easy it was to do;
To lie my way through.
It would be years before
The score would catch me
And ****** me out of my pride
And get me to walk alongside
Those I had walked on, cheated.
At every point I was greeted
With reality standing next to poetry;
The myths that were my story
With very little glory in them.
They were sort of a battle hymn
Of someone who always before
Fought all the wrong wars
And called the dead losers.
Oh, and I was a big ******
Does that explain a great deal?
That I really didn’t feel,
That I was on autopilot
And made sure to deny it;
That *** was my navigator
And hope was an alligator
Just about to consume me.
You could costume me, but
The way I talked and walked
Gave me away, every time.
Lying was my crime, nor was I
All that good at it. I failed;
I went to jail and confession
But none of these sessions
Helped me at all.
My heart was too small.
My pride too tall.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
call me suicidal
call me a loser
call me stupid
call me a ******
But little do you know
I am all of these
I am dark
and I leave a mark
Little do you know
I am the darkness in you
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:23 PM UTC
Life rips the fabric holding time at bay
and lets loose the frenzy.
I say
seize the moment
and catch each day
as if it were a butterfly and
ask yourself the reason why
life acts this way.
If we are to live to be we die
if we die to live we still die anyway.
Once upon a threshold in a town
so far away
where the magi travelled to throughout
each night and then one day arrived to
find
the stories were all true
apart from colour television and
Elvis as a stablehand, a
blue
sapphire,
a *** of gold, some
aftershave or so I'm told,
gifts or bribes?
Well,
history admires the brave and merit is the King,
so Jesus never had a chance
which has a familiar kind of ring.
I wrung the necks of several ***** in the aftershock when the dark sky brooded, deep was the mood until some jokes quite crude were circulated,
the congregation as expected congregated down the ******
and was the crucified the loser?
that was the question on people's lips,
several tips on how he could if he had desired escaped the dire consequence
and some said, three pound eighty pence
for a pint was far too much.
I pay, we all pay
some pray, but
time finds a way to
break into every day
and crucify
everyone.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
I hate my life ,I hate my wife
I hate the stupid
cat we have
I hate my house,I hate my spouse
I even hate the
cars we have
I hate to fail I hate to wail
I don't want
to live this failing way
I am a loser, not a ******
I am no druggie
I am just a old fool
I know hate is a terrible
word to let come out
of my messed up mind
I have no success
my spouse will let
you know somehow
I don't need a
mouth anymore
all I do is pray
I doubt that God
gives a care he is
silent as a rock
I hate to hate
I hate myself
for I am just a nothing
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC