Bored.
Dead town.
Dead people.
Wanna get drunk or something.
Wanna get stoned or something.
Anything. Done. Now. This second.
Need a fuck.
Need no aggravation,
from the thing called love.
Need cash.
Need smokes or
even a meal,
while work's all I kind of look forward to.
Sad really.
Need luck.
Need a new head.
Clouded in hash smoke.
Bollacks I need bed.
Bliss.
Piss.
The lot of it.
<Deleted User> (13762)
Sun 15th Nov 2015 08:45
I know the feeling but mine would have been 1979 and there was no work to look forward to just the dole queue - always wanted love tho.
Enjoyed the poem - not sure you need to add an explanation - let the words and title speak for themselves.
Cheers. I'd skin up for old time's sake but I've given up lol.
I was only 25 at the time and trying to write a few poems for a small press mag called barfly, which was an angst type thing full of broken people, language, and foul language etc.
I sent a group of poems to them but never had any luck and this was probably the best of the bunch.
I feel it captures one of those arrogant moments we all can have at times when we're young and frustrated. It is a product of its time.
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DavidAddington
Sun 15th Nov 2015 17:02
Cheers Colin. yeah, I suppose it works still today. Cheers