This life.
Another week ends,
Another weekend begins.
Another weak soul condemns, men.
Drinks ten, to twenty.
Sniffs plenty.
Heavy heart, undone by sin.
Harsh roots, undone by men.
Not the condemned.
The easier men.
The ones he sees on his TV screen.
Insults behind the phone screen.
'Fuck them? It's about ours!'
He screams, at large.
Roaming his town
Man down, man down!
Another dustbin feels his wrath.
Another drunk girl crosses his path.
It's all just a laugh?
He doesn't mean any harm.
It's not his fault the politicians don't care about him.
It's not his fault his parents didn't care about him.
It's not his fault his girlfriends never cared about him.
It's not his fault all his friends left him.
'Fuck them. It's about ours'.
He cries, whilst he laughs.
Bipolar double vision.
Head on collision.
Social media has his back.
'Can't believe what happened to Jack.'
'Lovely bloke.'
'Wish we spoke, more.'
Church packed.
Plenty of pats on the backs of Jack's new friends.
There after the end.
When he never needed them.
But he's there for them.
An excuse to get high.
A reason to cry.
A reminder that they'll all die.
The next week... then,
Death hides not their pain, again.
Back to hate unleashed.
Re-target those, the ones that don't look the same.
Focus there their rage.
This life, needs an enemy.