Bus Stop

Standing cold at the bus stop

Shaking violently, fit to drop

Drugged up, looking like a lop

Staring at the imaginary sweet shop

Waiting to degenerate and flop

Into the next life I hop

My brain is a porous sponge, a mop

I was once cream of the crop

Now shaking violently from the pop

Surrounded by bile, vomit and slop

I decide to climb to the mountain top

Instead of standing cold at the bus stop

I’ll climb and be free, fit to drop

Will I be ready to carry on living

Or will I not?

◄ Looking Into Space

I Don't Care ►


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Patricia and Stefan Wilde

Sun 23rd Jan 2011 19:49

been there/read the book etc etc pity those who are not able to be here to say the same eh Jules.Good poem-thanks and best regards-Stef.

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