Most women are just bad poetry.

You know,
i think about the women
who have entered my room

and most
of the women,
they're like bad poems i've read
and bad poets i've met

with their
pitiful attempts
of emotion that never
leave their fingers,
or mouths,
or souls
they just fill
themselves
with fucking hedonistic
bullshit

and their remains always
seem to sprawl themselves
all over my sheets
and i guess
thats what leaves them undone,

and you try,
you read it
like it was the first
time you've ever
seen such splendour
and say you love it
that it's beautiful

so they take
their withering hearts
out of the cage
and try again
so they might
at least try
to want the pen
on the paper
one more time

but they just
seem to evaporate
from the place
and
i forget about them
for the rest
of the year

not all women
though,

some,
the select saints,
they make an impact

but unfortunately
they're born under blue moons
with king tides and meteor showers

but thats
why they're only the best,
they're like spectacular plays
or the words shakespeare
couldn't properly scratch out
onto paper

some
like bukwoski, groves,
t.hull and brecht
they're the ones
i'll remember

but

unfortunately,
most are just
like bad poems
i've read.