poem to the poet who
deleted me
as a facebook friend
well
as if the streets
weren’t enough of a terror
this game
life
sad sack
and defeated upon birth
a swirling shit river
where every move made
seems like some kind of cheat
or deception
still
there are those moments of hope
in between the slop
the taste of a strawberry candy
sex on a sunday afternoon
a kind phone call coming when you’re on
the brink of madness
oh
and the safe and blessed knowledge
that i’ll never
have to read
your terrible poem turds
again
unless i really want to
fuck myself
up
or
bring myself
down.
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