Week 42

I don’t have a fucking thing to say tonight.

I’m tired and angry and should go to bed,
but instead I sit here trying to force some fucking words out.
Why?
Who knows, who cares, and what difference does it make?
I don’t see the point in trying to figure it out.
I fucking hurt inside and that’s about it,
nothing fucking new, nothing fucking exciting to talk about,
no words of wisdom, rhyme, or bullshit poetry.
It’s just me typing on this fucking computer like anybody gives a shit.
 

Robert

2016