The dehydrated working class poet. Not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Just hard being wrong for so long.
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
It's the small crimes, the white lies,
The good and bad times,
Holding on too long
for something which wasn't worth the burden.
But I can't help holding on for you,
And worse still, to you,
worse still what else would I hold on to?
I like dancein on tables and gettin drunk, drunk enought to fall and stumble, to know im lost and feel its ok to mumble. time takes to long so im tryin to express how i feel. but the question is always there is any of this real?
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