It’s time for poem #2,
but it’ll be short
as pizza is due,
yes, another one of those
as I’m tired of heating cold food.
As if I do it much anyway,
cooking for one is so lame,
who wants to spend an hour or two
making dishes dirty
that they’ll have to clean too?
It’s no fun, trust me.
I would know, I live alone.
There is no woman
to make my house a home.
I suppose,
the only one to blame is me
as even the unattractive
only seek prosperity.
If I was successful it’d be easy,
I could have any number of hoes
willing to feed me,
so long as I bought them shit;
to feed their need
for status, validation and
shiny new things,
while bringing nothing to the table,
not even with a “Please?”
Why do anything for you,
when others demand less?
She can have whatever she wants.
Why would she stress?
All she has to do is lift her dress.
She doesn’t even have to fuck!
Buy a webcam and watch
virtual coins pile up,
coins that can most certainly
be turned into dollars,
so I’ll ask the obvious,
“Why would she bother?”