Days of Death
Ive been lonely for 333 days. I cant find my way so I go get McDonalds. Eat it and throw
it back in the bag turn on the TV and just sag. Where I’m at I jus don no. My world jus
stopped I got no flow where you at cause I’m there 3 seconds flat but you’re not comin
back I can’t embrace the fact. In fact I would throw you in a sack you’d be my own
personal pack id drink you up shota vodka in my tea cup. So I’m crazy, so what? I’m so
crazy it amazes me smokin till my house is hazy and my eye drapes all lazy gone and never
comin the bullet went right to her head. This is what I dream in bed: mother *er you
killed my wife now im gonna take your mother *in life. I hit him so hard he fell to the
floor he reached for the door, but I kicked him like a football punt and now his butt is
sore, then I took a blunt aimed down low a worse than death blow, but then I wake for
goodness sake, the TV’s still on and the pussy is one.
Copyright © Jeremy Fredde | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment