Ant Smith

Poetry

In So Many Ways

I am in so many ways

Sick and tired of my life

It's not that nothing goes my way

It's just that I'm alive

I can not even get into

A bout of self abuse

I can not even get my hand

To do what hands should do

Every time I take a grip

I'm left with empty fingertips

My Midas touch is an excuse

I know that I'm a goddam fool

I ask too much and not enough

With my wicked tongue

My loose lips speak drunken shit

Like bullets from a gun

Every time I smile I spit

Gratuities and random bits

My babble babbles like a song

Over the hills, I am long gone

I've seen too much with tired eyes

Poetry