sometimes when everything seems at
its worst
when all conspires
and gnaws
and the hours, days, weeks
years
seem wasted – stretched there upon my bed
in the dark
looking upward at the ceiling
i get what many will consider an
obnoxious thought:
it's still nice to be
Bukowski.
its worst
when all conspires
and gnaws
and the hours, days, weeks
years
seem wasted – stretched there upon my bed
in the dark
looking upward at the ceiling
i get what many will consider an
obnoxious thought:
it's still nice to be
Bukowski.
( Charles Bukowski )
[ You Get So Alone at Times That ]
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