Bus rides are long. This poem will probably only be seen written exactly like this right here, so, I suppose you could call it limited edition.
#???-The next great loser.
I’m a loser.
Ugly, broke, tired
Dumber by the day and wiser by the minute.
My times been used up hanging out with
degenerates and nobody’s,
my conversations have been had with delusional’s, dreamers, and drunkards.
I don’t understand much about this
piss bucket existence,
and I’m not entirely sure that I’m tough enough for it.
Some days the razors edge presses itself to your throat,
the types of days you think are your last.
I’m probably going to die a loser,
and baby, if you don’t wanna fuck me,
that’s just fine.
Losers always find a way to make it in the end,
so whaddya say we go get a drink?