I would tell her the only Thing I believed in Was the grave. Which was true And much more real when I was drunk and fucked up.
By Test2 years ago in Poets
I don’t know why the bottle slipped. I can try to think about it and find Various reasons as to why I lost my grip, But the simple fact is neither of us
She said she wouldn’t leave But we all say that sort of thing. Mabe cause we didn’t realize we weren’t Looking past the moment, and all the
What kind of storm did you create? { Did you see that flash of lightning in The distance at that one crucial moment?
You’ve never seen me hammer out a page. Maybe that’s because I want to hammer out your μουνι Then just move on because it would be old news.
To win is what you and I want But that means nothing. As far as I am concerned, we make The best moves to the best of our
For me this is a waiting game. { Chinaski used to sit at this thing and Punch in 11 to 12 poems while he was Hammered off his ass but never
Some days are better than others. There are times where I can walk in Happy and take off my shirt to put A chef coat on, leave my knives at
It’s hell out here baby, But we already know that. { After waking up what strength Does it take to walk on out That door to search for a
She cut it all down. Sealed off every pathway. { But she can’t burn the memories. No, she cannot. They are moving pictures
“Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That leaves you with one day for chores; Then a single day for rest; When are you going to write?”
Don’t ask me what I was Doing watching that stupid ass LIVE where this ranting fool Busted out some anthology On “Criminal Poetry”
