I write you a letter; scratch that, a poem,
I’ve tried every approach, but the words,
I guess are too big,
You simply don’t know ‘em.
So here’s another attempt, borne out of a cut wire,
Different in every way entire.
It pisses me off no end, knowing I’m stuck with you,
Down right shitty is the reality,
That neither I nor my countrymen
Have anything we can do…
Except hope….and dream,
Dream a dream filled with animosity,
Bursting at the seam, with intent cold,
Filled to the brim with desires of the mold,
The mold of which I speak,
Is the kind from which I derive a kick,
Like when I watch a flick,
Where the sick demented prick
Meets his end,
Gone, till Kingdom come.
Nobody cries… nobody tries.
That’s what I feel for you,