Just Close My Word Hole for Christsakes

Fucking faggot poems
And they don't mean nothin
Just words on a page
tryin to tell us somethin'
Like build a house
Of hopes and dreams
With secret fields and sunny streams
With lovely trees grown all around
Use them fuckers
To burn it down
Sifting thru the ashes still
I can't have it
Never will
"Stick to what your good at Son"
Taking care of number one
Had my chances
Just can't grab it
No one really
Wants me to have it
So fucking faggot poems
And they don't mean nothin'
Voices in my head
Trying to tell me somethin'

Saint


I might have been in love when i wrote this...pfft...gem
i dont remember