Poem: Bombs

GT,

Banks,

Shandy,

Five and Coke,

Scotch,

Guinness,

Red or White.

Bombs.

What do you know? Or. What are you waiting for—

What are we gonna do with this? No. What are you going to do with this?

You could tell me. But don’t bother. Come out of your country.

That’s what I’ll do.

Maybe, for mental health,

we’ll have to pull the needle early, stop the spinning.                  Oh well.

If you want to talk—or, never mind. Never mind that. Some of them have nothing, but you…you got this thing…this thing going on…but it’s about to go.

Let’s see where this takes you,

this loss.

Yeah,   let’s see where it takes you.

Good luck.       I’ll                    be        here                  despite the heartache.

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry blah sorry sorry sorry blah blah blah sorry sorry.

There’s this door. They say he is the door. He is the door. But I think she is the door. No one gets that. Don’t trust them. They snake.

About mattylife

"And no one is a stranger...for long."
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