assholes
I awoke
with my spinal cord
detached
from the stem
of a once
beautiful
rose
bitter brae`s
have lost
their dimension
of poetry
water writhes
trying
to break free
from the depth
of its
arid ocean
and I’m dying
for a thirst
of your
misery
’cause I have this poem here
see
but you`d rather I recite
the deficit
of poets
with ingenious titles
I don’t have time
to be
what’s proper
time is ticking
and the world is running out
of assholes
to shove my poetry in
