On a Four Poster Dead
LUXURY TO LAMENT
When the temperature outside says you should be hot
Except you’re mother f*****g cold in every spot
When you’re laying in a luxurious four-poster bed
Scoring some dope is the only thought in your head
When my bones ache every time I move
A body doesn’t need anything else to prove
I feel the sweating but wet my body shouldn’t be
While Bobby next door has dope but he ain’t giving it away free
I’ve got holes in my pocket, my shirt and in my shoes
But the body doesn’t need any other kind of clues
You grow more uncomfortable in that board of a bed
And your only option is to hit some old lady with a rock over the head
But you’re shaking and your body is making you pay
I’m only twenty three yet my hair is turning grey
I’m lying on a lascivious bug laden bed
And my only other option is the morgue………., home for the dead
© 2011.…..Phreepoetree~free cee!~
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
