my car has become our car,
so now im taking the bus to the bar.

its my day off, why not spend it drinking,
its a fuck of a load better than spending all day thinking,
what could have been, what i hoped would be,
if i hadnt been such a blithering sight of humanity.

now shes gone and moved away, and i have no other choice we'll say,

so now i drink, like i did before, since that other one that left me forlorn.

i blame all my problems on others persay, but in the start, and in the end, and all through that nasty middle part,
its all been me for me to hide, its all been me but for whats inside.

that dark abyss where nothing feels, i wonder where it all goes so i can heal. into the walls, and into the floor, like one big dark, dismal, depressing, blackedout, drowned in the ill sorrow of my malicious content corridor.

i dont usually write poems as you can tell, i dont meant to be deep, just fucked up as hell.

im fairly good at rhyming, though poems dont have to rhyme, im sure i could give you a freestyle good time.

so now i keep writing, as i look at the time, theres still an hour and a half before ill be fine.
sitting in the bar, drinking my cash, feel free to come up and smack my stupid ass.

but then again, the bus does take a minute.

adios suckers.