grunge poetry


room is spinning .
thinK about the outcome .
ignore the what – ifs n
focus on how come .
how dumb could you
possibly become ?
raised in the suburbs ,
never heard the sound of guns .
pounding rum .
damaged lungs .
out of Key when this
tragedy is sung .
satan drums to the
beat of the wicK / d n
i ‘ ve got extra seats
if you need a ticKet .
the myth is at twenty – seven
i ‘ ll end existence n
they ‘ re all staring at me
to see if i ‘ ve committed .
this is a bit of a
twist / d predicament .
all the vices that life is
will soon finish ” this . ”
i ‘ m feeling limit / d .
oblivious to it ‘ s vividness .
it ‘ s hideous .
push / d underneath of
where the pity lives .
the inner pedals on
her flowers are
venomous .
full of endless ,
sentiment .
sediment .
trembling the cup
on my piano .
dim candles .
burnt out , but
it ‘ s better than
fading away , no doubt .
this route
that ‘ s been map / d out
leads me hungover to
my couch .
staring at the ceiling ;
vertigo .
‘ round n ‘ round
in hand w / where
mary goes .

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