Ant Smith

Anger

You're the reason

You're the broken promises

Of a Sunday afternoon

You're the ghost that hangs about

The corner of my room

You're the creeping mist that

Dampens down my mood

You're the very reason

I've got this attitude

You're the stink of carbon

That despoils the very air

You're the empty bottle

That smells of dark despair

You're the used up fag butt

That litters everywhere

You're the very reason

I'm playing solitaire

You're the cloud of dust that

Sometimes my feet kick up

You're the floating chunks left

Whenever I chuck up

You're the chewy bits of

My dried up crispy spunk

You're the very reason

This world is all fucked up

Anger