All the great poets are dead.
They sit on TV sets with fake titted whores
who sit next to them
and laugh
and laugh
and laugh.
They haven't experienced pain.
or loneliness.
just a weeping sadness.
oh my cat died.
the mailman didnt come
or the faggots across the road are ******** too loud.
all the great poets died.
when we got medical care and a clean bed.
and thats not all bad.
the people dont suffer any more.
but i suffer
and the rejected do.
until the very last gasp
the rejected suffer
for i have created a lot of poetry.
yet.
not.
am i.
a poet.
Pseu Community Member 
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