Booze Blues

I
know
the
time is
coming

Although
I’m not
quite
there
yet

When
all
I’ll
feel is
hungover

And
full
of
fucking
regret

Exasperation

If life’s
a bitch

And then
you die

Then what’s
the fucking
point

Just flip
the switch

Let out
a sigh

And roll
another
joint

Better Off Dead

Sometimes
I
wonder,

Is
this all
there is?

Just
boredom,
emptiness

And your
endless
bullshit?

I couldn’t
think of
anything
nicer,

Than to be
somewhere
else
instead.

Far from
all the
anxiety
and pain,

And your
words
plaguing
my head.

Home Alone

It’s Friday night

And I’m here alone

In this house

We used to call home

There’s nothing left now

Just an empty shell

With me here alone

Living through hell

Work

Well I
guess
there’s
nothing
else for it

Three hours
left wading
through
this
bullshit

Perhaps I
should
hand in
my notice
and quit

At least
then that
would be
the end
of it

A Long Forty Eight Hours

If you stare
at the same four walls
for long enough,
a fifth can start
to appear.

Perhaps it’s then
you’re supposed to
realise that
the end is near.

If you stare
at the same four walls
for long enough,
your mind can
start to bend.

Perhaps it’s then
you’re supposed to
know it’s the
beginning of the end.

Parties

Hi,

Sorry I’m late,

I didn’t want to come,

I already want to go home.

Where’s the booze..?

A Chore

If only I
could pair
beautiful
imagery with
my words,
lilting melody
to my song,
revelatory
meaning to
my poetry…

Perhaps it
wouldn’t
bore the
shit out
of you
as much
to read it,
as it
does me to
write it.

The Meaning of Life

Half laughing at some shit joke,
badly told by some prick you can't stand,
one eye trained on the nearest exit,
too anxious to stay but too scared to run.