Black Hole
“Now, what was I gonna say? ”
I forgot. It’s gone.
out the window
through the black hole in time
and my head,
like so often
before.
Along with
wallet,
keys
and this month’s
rent.
Hours wasted
around midnight.
As my clock showed a
million to something,
it struck me:
I could be dead
tomorrow
or better off.
Waking up with V.I.P
monster truck tickets,
half empty bottles
of 21 year old whisky
or a younger naked whore
besides me
and a dick that itches,
without knowing why or how.
Scratches my itch
I unscrew the cap,
screw the whore,
wondering where those hours
went, and if life would
have been
more fun
wasting sober?
poem by Carsten Thomsen
Added by Poetry Lover
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