Array ( [sid] => 185179 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => On With My Life [time] => 2018-06-03 15:33:46 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I stayed up way too late
Dirt in the kitchen
Food still on the plates
Half way wondering how this all became my new fate
Kids asleep in their beds
The morning paper on the floor that*s never been read
Thoughts of a new day
Only brings me more dread
She left without a trace
Off with a new bro
To another place
Lucky for him
She left on a whim
The dude is a boozer
A first class loser
He*s always late running in place
The only place he*s going
Is to the floor when he trips on his shoelaces
I*m off to bed
Honestly I don/'/t care if they are both dead
An old story that needs not to be said
Tomorrow starts a new day
On with my life
You bet I*ll find a new way
Don*t want no more knocks on the door
No more drunken nights on the floor
Gone like the wind
Put it to rest
Let this be the end [comments] => 7 [counter] => 266 [topic] => 52 [informant] => jamesstockdale [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => goodbyepoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - On With My Life


On With My Life
Date: Sunday, 3rd June 2018 @ 03:33:46 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: jamesstockdale
I stayed up way too late
Dirt in the kitchen
Food still on the plates
Half way wondering how this all became my new fate
Kids asleep in their beds
The morning paper on the floor that*s never been read
Thoughts of a new day
Only brings me more dread
She left without a trace
Off with a new bro
To another place
Lucky for him
She left on a whim
The dude is a boozer
A first class loser
He*s always late running in place
The only place he*s going
Is to the floor when he trips on his shoelaces
I*m off to bed
Honestly I don/'/t care if they are both dead
An old story that needs not to be said
Tomorrow starts a new day
On with my life
You bet I*ll find a new way
Don*t want no more knocks on the door
No more drunken nights on the floor
Gone like the wind
Put it to rest
Let this be the end

This poem is Copyright © jamesstockdale


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