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 ramblings and things


He wrote poetry to slash your throat to
Pouring out his personal grief and bile
Which he'd read out loudly and solemnly
As thought it would hurt his face to smile,

And the audience would wriggle
And some of them would start to talk
And some would slip outside
For a ciggie and a walk.
I'd watch them on  CCTV
As he droned on and on and on
Fully understanding why
They'd upped sticks and gone.
Performing in a pub's a privilege
And he never stopped to think:
Just poured out his abject misery
To folk out to enjoy a social drink.

Laugh and the audience is with you but
 if you proclaim and whinge and moan
Don't be surprised if the room empties
And you're left there on your own.

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