Words Rearranged To Create Poetry

they told me it had to rhyme it had to mean something— something big— like death, or love, or the smell of gasoline in a motel parking lot. so I just sat there with a busted lighter and an ashtray full of good intentions, and the words just spilled out like a drunk trying to find my shoes that I misplaced. this isn’t a poem, it’s just like life with its pants down, asking you to kiss it before it collapses again, waking up just to do it over and over again.