Dry House

By skully

It’s three o’clock in the morning
I’m out on the cold, cold, unwashed street
Even though I haven't even used I should be used to it
But the politics of this place sure gets me down

She looks down her frigid iron beak a cold, cold frown
Its like I’m a freak and I ain’t done nothing,
Even though I am used to it
The politics of this place sure gets me down

Its quarter past three she phones my mother
60 going on seventy she could do without
Being woke up and told her son is on heroin again
my heroine is shattered, half a heart attack later
The politics of this place sure gets her down

Ignorant misinformed people on some power rush
Claiming they have been where we have, fuck off
Though we know this is how it works
The politics of these people still gets us down

It’s lucky for my friend, lucky for my medication
Or by now I could be dead, or worse have a habit
Cold, cold mist seeping through my bones again
The politics of this dive sure wears me down

If you have to be a cunt at least let me know
Don’t get in my head, pretend to be my friend
Your policies and your regulations.
Your hypocritical masturbations
Sure bring us down

At least the drugs were honest
They did just like they promised
With familiar whimsical regularity
Bringing you all the way up, then all the way down

It ok though I will see you in court
I’ll see you on the way down
Show you what I found

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
© 2009 skully
Published on Friday, May 29, 2009.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "Dry House"

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  • gnrrain On Friday, May 29, 2009, gnrrain (19)By person wrote:

    "Your policies and your regulations. Your hypocritical masturbations" Exquisite. Period. --David--

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