"1946, '56, and '77"

Nine shitty poems.

Your stripes worn down to skin,

Wore down to tissue,

Wore down to bone,

Wore down to dirt.

Leave the misery alone because people can't stand you sober.

Fat cats appointing minions to overlook your every move

Finally determining your stance on life and your outlook as well.

On the hill, where you make your last stand

Staring off to the west

To see the storm clouds roll in

Is where the gods realize the hero has arrived

That low growl realizing unwanted arrival

Hearts ache at the knowing

the knowing

View anexod's Full Portfolio