More Depressing Self Indulgent Shit

I'm a depressive.

Worse and madder even than that monocular moron of the manse that has ruined our country.

So it's time to inflict another miserable poem on the world.

It's called 'To Save Time'

To save time
Life should, each morning
Just kick you in the balls.

To save disappointment
You should, each day
Expect to be disappointed.

To save yourself?
She should, each second
Be in your thoughts.

Some Days

As proof that blogging is really all about vanity, I offer a little poem that sums me up in just 20 lines of doggerel.

Some Days

Some days, I just need
To sand the rougher edges of my mood
To smooth the spiky bits of life
In ways too often misconstrued.

Some days, I need a drink
To slow me down, or pick me up -
To make me comatose perhaps -
I don't do fractions - there's the rub.

Some days, I like to smoke,
A toke or three to take the pain away -
To induce dreaminess and peace
And cool the raging passions of the day.

Some days, I like to fight,
Creating confrontations on a whim -
To express my frustrations?
Yes, but also to get back at Him.

Some days, I vegetate,
To... but there is no reason there.
No voluntary action can be made
No sense, no will, no God, nowhere.


I think I might give it to my psychiatrist at our next meeting - it's easier than trying to explain to someone just out of their teens why a middle aged man is such a fuck-up as I am.