Think of it as a bad poetry reading in a room with no exit.
I’m on stage and they won’t let me off, and frankly, I don’t want to go.
I work best with no editor. No school marm. No hope.
I hate everyone but God.
Meaning is a bitch. I know, I dated her.
In the morning I leave my body and send him to the office.
Such a wimp. I can make him do anything, pathetic.
I almost feel bad for him. I go swimming.
If the devil is writing this then who am I?
And what does it say about my wife?
Wait, am I in the right place? I thought you said “avenue.”
I know you wanted it that other way but it’s better like this.
Since we’re not getting paid we might as well have fun.
I’m going to have a party in Palermo. I’ll send you an invite by mail.
You can choose between a plus one and a front row seat.
To the spectacle of my undoing.