Poetic Junkie

I suppose,

I am too, a poetic junkie:

either the one meaning

or simply


Waiting for the life

to happen before

my precious eyes.

It’s 3:40 in the afternoon

and I work soon,

soon to run around,

and isn’t that just

life itself?

Smoking my manyeth cigar

letting time pass,


the people stroll out

with their groceries

The pigs of the world

The animals in suits

and ties

living still in restless sties.


Waiting for something;

The rain

or maybe an answer

from god,

that simply will never come.

A conversation

with no end

nor beginning;

with no losers,

nor winners,

with none righteous

and none sinners.

Yet still

we wait

to die

and have

flowers sprout

through our eye sockets

for the next scornful

generation to piss on

and disown –

we wait.

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