I’ve only got a few fucks to give today
Delirious in purple slumber
Lazy is as lazy does
Hazy in pink bliss
Don’t disturb unless it’s about my mother
Or the ship is going down under
No fucks to give to a rowdy neighbour
No fucks to give to the boy who cried wolf
Too little too late
Trying to live amidst
My own haste
Anxiety accelerating my self – hate
No fucks to give
None, just some fucks on reserve
Just in case.
Poetry
Shooting the breeze
Shooting the breeze
With my mate Jack
Playing Russian roulette
With cigarettes
Forgetting the warnings on the packs
“We are idle beings”
Jack begins
“We say we domesticate ourselves
Well I’ll ‘ave you know, Matt,
‘tis the animals that domesticated us”
An impressive moustache
An impressive moustache
Is an ode to itself
A man equipped with such
Magnificence
Is sure to be an influence
Good or bad though
The answer is ambiguous
It’s all in how the man
Uses his moustaches significance
Basket case
Elaborate lies
Weaving baskets
Ready to carry you away
when you’re wearing your best straitjacket
Sunday wordle: Map of the world
Smoking another coffin nail
To ease up your stilted words
Trying to get your message out
Tracing all the lines
Of hurt
Like a map of the world
Nothing
My sockets are broke
Replaced my eyes with marbles
Got static on my tongue
Words unsung
Empty of thought
But not without feeling
Nothing to say
Nothing to declare
Silent sorrow on my mind
No hiding from this despair
Orange
Seventy-seven years have passed
And you still interpret the world
In bouquets of orange
Writer’s block is real
The absence of words still heavy
Nudging creativity to nothing
These whispers
These whispers
Forget I’m dead
And they talk on as if
I dared to care
And my reflection
Says I’m still here
Cowboy time
The time is ten to ten
I want whisky on tap
It’s cowboy time
And then
We saddle up and ride
Don’t give me that side eye
I’m the man with the wit
And the battle stride
You may say I’m a misfit
But just like you, I was born to die
