Failure on my desk.

A bra strapped to my chest.

Why do I like this leash?

They say I’ll never have to choose,

Between what I want and need,

I can have the book and my food.

So that’s wrong?

While I sit and contemplate,

Wondering which relatives would most like to break,

My neck,

There’s “Spanish” rice cooking in the kitchen,

But I’m only Black Dutch?

That’s funny.

My brother said I’m “stupid”,

His vocabulary is quite impressive.

No really.

With all that weed in his body,

I bet that took him all day.

None of that rhymed…

My cat’s getting older, I’m getting older,

We’re all getting older,

Finding it harder to get over it,

Well I’m not.

I don’t care,

I know when I’ll die.

It’s still a ways off…

But other people are dying.

Steve Irwin is dead,

And now so is this poem.

Thanks for reading.