Courtney, it's fine

I'm running out of ways to metaphorically write
about how angry I am in my little part of Texas
recently

the only answer I can come up with
is I'm sexually frustrated
'cause I just can't get my kicks
off booze fucking me into a ditch
these days

I've loved a few men in my day
but the drugs and the sex
don't really count as lovers
when I think too hard about it
and honestly
that's depressing
the thought of being a cliche
young and naive
I mean

"The poems don't love us anymore"
yeah
Leonard was right about that
I've spent years looking for myself
in a pimped art
that was just pretty enough to repulse me
into trying it
'cause if it didn't make me sick
I wouldn't give it a second glance

I'm getting the feeling I've over stayed my welcome
the roaches have taken up permanent residency here
and the couch has a piss stain that's not mine
which means the territory is rabid
and I'm not willing to fight

I wonder how long it would take to hitchhike
to the devils river from here
or what I'd have spend getting there
considering I'm dead broke
again