Through my eyes: Poem with no rhyme

tirsdag den 9. november 2010

Poem with no rhyme

She is so fucked up, and freaks me out, she is so messed up.
Im on thé edge of to much thinking, im on thé verge of dying of to much thinking.
Im a poem with no rhyme.
Im a victim of a crime.
Im a writer with no pain.
Desperately searching for ways to write again.
So she´s with another man, Im not lost I just dont know who the fuck I am.
Im on thé edge of to much thinking, im on thé verge of dying of to much thinking.
Im a poem with no rhyme.
Im a writer with no pain.
Desperately searching.

Ingen kommentarer:

Send en kommentar

Quote:

The world ain´t all sunshine and rainbows. It´s a very rough, mean place and no matter how tough you think you are it will always bring you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You or nobody ain´t never gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain´t about how hard you hit. It´s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. If you know what you´re worth go out and get what your worth. But you´ve got to be willing to take the hit.

Quote:

Why shouldn´t I work for the N.S.A?
That´s a tough one, but I´ll give it a shot.

Say I´m working at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And i´m real happy with myself, cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed.
Now the politicians are sayin: "Send in the marines to secure the area" cause they dont give a shit. It wont be their kid over there, gettin shot. Just like it wasn´t them when their number was called, cause they were pullin a tour in the National Guard instead.
It´ll be some guy from the south takin shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job now, cause he´ll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from the south realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain´t helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon.
And naturally they´re takin their sweet time bringing the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain´t too long till he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So my buddy´s out of work and he can´t afford to drive, so he´s got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin him chronic hemorroids.
And meanwhile he´s starvin cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only thing they are servin is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker state. So what do I think? I´m holding out for something better.
Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard?
I could be elected president.