Ant Smith

All poems

In so many ways

I am in so many ways
Sick and tired of my life
It's not that nothing goes my way
It's just that I'm alive

I can not even get into
A bout of self abuse
I can not even get my hand
To do what hands should do
Every time I take a grip
I'm left with empty fingertips
My Midas touch is an excuse
I know that I'm a goddam fool

I ask too much and not enough
With my wicked tongue
My loose lips speak drunken shit
Like bullets from a gun
Every time I smile I spit
Gratuities and random bits
My babble babbles like a song
Over the hills, I am long gone

I've seen too much with tired eyes