Over 16,529,942 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
I drifted in naked oblivion.
Til I found my last clean pair of blue jeans.
A wadded roll of 20's coupons, 1's
Numbers I'll never dial, notes I won't write.
Jesus I need a cigarette. Or three.
Maybe I should call. It is her birthday.
She's probably out with someone better.
Some lockjaw'd, strongarm'd doucher with great hair
a fruity scent, secure, boring sameness
Good smile, and twice the car you'll never own.
Like she'd go for that, when once, maybe twice,
she fell for you. By some bargain or trick.
I doubt she thinks half as much about you.
Such harsh reality breeds moody prose.
The kind you quit cold turkey in high school,
fell off the wagon, and divorced again.
Couldn't be worse than that week you were goth.
Or the six other times you were in love.
Too bad, without her, this lost all meaning.
Can it be found in ten short syllables?
