A poem for the hustled

where do we go from here?

Our daily lives, our daily bread

We can we go?

Whats' the point?

 

It is ten p.m.

early i Know

but i am getting zonked

On weed, Waits and Zee Voodka

 

 

Asking these questions

 

Alone

 

The only ones to hear any

of this rambling are

cockroaches

And

even if they did know

They wouldn't tell

 

If they did

then

it would be

Doomsday for them

 

And

Why would they want to commit

Mass suicide

 

When they can eat for free?

Author's Note

it is something.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

you're a witty guy...

[Dionysus Cain]

eat for free, hell the way this economy is going i might want to be a cockaroach..lol...it is a simple poem with a real meaning. sick and tired of being sick and tired.