Hey. This is a rough draft of a poem. Pretty much all of my poems are rough drafts.
#???-dead door nail
I spit blood on the ground before taking another drag of a cigarette I’m smoking on my way to go drown myself in cheap whiskey while surrounded by cheaper friends who only need a puff and a shot to stick by my side for the night.
I can feel my teeth breaking on the cold concrete of life and all I want is a warm body to help it hurt less, I suppose all I’m saying is before I die I hope I can have someone who lies down next to me and whispers into my ear ever so sweetly my name, saying that she loves me as our arms entangle each other like some sort of Boy Scout knot, but warm bodies are harder to come by then booze and friends and I think my heart might be drying up and I’m scared that someday sooner then later I’m going to choke on my own bullshit and keel over, dead as a door nail and loved as much as one too, and all I gotta say is I would hope that even my own worst enemy was loved more then a rusty old door nail.