Poems For Mid-January
Violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet,
You know when you don't call me back I hide in your bushes and wait, and that's not good for either of us.
Roses are red,
Daffodils yellow,
Each passing moment,
We grow farther apart from those we love and increase our odds of dying alone and misunderstood.
Roses are red,
A joy to behold,
Whatever happens,
Life will never get any easier.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Flowers smell sweet,
But stronger still is the odor of failure, a clinging stench impervious to any soap and destined to hang in a cloud around our bowed, broken heads.
Roses are red,
Who cares I've never seen one.
Roses are red,
Like everyone knows,
But prettiest of all,
Is the blood flowing from your coworker's freshly broken nose after you punch her (that's right, her) for bothering you all day and smelling like an ashtray, I mean at least try the patch or something, you old hag.
Roses are red,
Some pens are black,
At the end of the day,
I need TV for hours to dull my senses and numb the ache that accompanies life, allowing me to get through one more day.
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