imagine being a Bag you...

and a shitty other.!
then imagine being
her son
someone who can't look ahead
someone who is really alone
dead
imagine trying to carry your soulless body
and just getting dropped like an old bag
on the floor
a lover no more
a user and a liar
why don't you send my poems out
the ones that selfishly fill you with
the desire to lash out
because you realize
the writing holds the truth
to the day
the lies you say
you hold yourself heavy
and you hold nothing else
you claim to be decent
but anyone within reason
will understand you're not
really  within anything....
as dead as that
purse made of Rats ass