poor me.

a poem in lackluster thought,

in a held out from the show.

pour me another shot.

it is here that i used to keep

a full picture of her,

for i cannot avoid.

don’t wanna break no window,

but it ain’t too late to start.

just an ordinary guy

with a bunch of problems.

but here i am

seeing the book of love,

in that it just ends everywhere,

though every atom

of my heart,

i spread forever,

in like there was no other,

cuz i’m just a second rater

in the down and out,

of this little truth moment

in a bluesy alert.

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