Saturday Morning, 2 AM

Im feeling all the fears

I feel dead inside

I need a pen and paper

and a thing of cyanide


I get lots of advice 

I pay a penny for your thoughts

my options stay open 

while my opinion rots


I would write the letter

but my notes fall flat

my beats bein hit 

with a baseball bat


My crooked culture wastin

My  people lay off

I wanna scream and shout

But I can only cough


Lemme give you my voice

You give me your ear

And we'll find a few points

That we both share and fear


The time is 2 AM

It's black out in the skies

But there are still people 

with their bloodshot eyes


They plan nuclear invasion

They plan the death of man

They play the others bluff

with no cards in their hand


The past is still alive

progress is elusive

we still fear change 

We don't wanna be obtrusive


What about your future?

What's your future plans?

These questions seem so quaint 

But they're comin as demands


The time is 3AM

it's not getting better

My head begins to ache

As I continue with my letter


Is there any God?

Am I really free?

Karma is a bitch 

Is it comin back for me?


Can I get my feelings

Into a single verse

Or will it just get me

A one-way ride in a hearse?


I'll pull a Socrates

The Hemlock Way to Go

Just take a little sip 

and just die, I don't know


The time is 4AM

I've won another bout

I broke my wooden pencil

And now I'll just zonk-







Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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