Empty Head

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Empty Head

My life is a mess,
I’m addicted to drugs.
I can never think straight,
my head’s full of bugs.

It’s a bad infestation,
no exterminator can clean.
I used to be a good guy,
but now I’ve turned mean.

I wish I could go back,
and start all over again
to get rid of this monkey,
who’s become my best friend.

I thought I was clever,
a really smart guy.
But now I can’t help feeling,
that I’m getting ready to die.

I’ve got my needle,
and also my spoon.
Now I’m on my way,
for a trip to the Moon.

I’m in the land of Nod,
what a wonderful place.
It’s just like being,
launched into space.

My life’s at the end,
there’s no turning back.
How in the hell,
did I get so far off track?

I can feel the Grim Reaper,
his hand’s on my head.
He’s shown me the way,
to the land of the dead.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

rcellsjr’s Poems (14)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Forgive me my love 0
A Winter's Journey 0
Mrs Right? 0
The Cancer Stick 0
Broken Child/Broken Adult 0
Childhood Lost 1
The Heroin Addict 1
Once I was normal 1
Empty Head 0
Memories of Jimmy 0
Do You Believe -3
The Persistence of Time -12
Innocence Lost 3
Time for you, Time for me 1