Trippin'
Stammer and trip
Over my own words
That come back to haunt me
Like sewer turds
Buzzards fly about my house
Guess they know I thought to douse
Myself in gasoline
And become a self-torched
Buddist monk,
For some of my words
really stunk...
But there I go,
With my mindless chatter,
When will I learn
It doesn't matter
What I may think
Or I may say
The world goes on
In it's own way.
Copyright © Tom Bell | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment