What the Hell
As I sit tonight, of all nights
I think, what the hell!?
As I smoke and drink and smoke and
drink,
I think what the hell,
I cant finish,
I cant start
and I cant love
without dying over and over
Gameover.
I am bad at the game of love,
a poker match with high stacks
the girl is the pot
and I bet all in
I fold.
Get out of town,
live a little,
drive a car into a bridge,
drown in water with stones in my pockets,
a metaphoric death,
Virginia Woolf I love you,
kiss me off!
Game over,
I lost again,
what the hell,
what cant I get right
I always lose.
Not in Poetry though,
And those so-called fans clap for me,
when I light another cigarette
and die with the stoke of a pen to paper.
They eat my **** up
and I sit and think
What the Hell!?
My stuff isn't even that good...
goodnight...
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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