Bad Hangover Bad Poetry
I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have. Anyone have anysuggestions that don't involve raw eggs, fried food or more booze?
Dreary rain from dreary skies
falls into my bloodshot eyes
but surely and to no suprise
It can't dilute my drunk demise.
and sticks my shirt onto my back,
that stoops, as round and round I slack
All motivation now I lack
In fact I wish I'd get the sack
So I could crawl home straight to bed
the next best thing to being dead.
Lay to rest pathetic head
That feels as light as solid lead.
I curse the day that I was born,
a piece of useless drunken spawn.
Thrust to a world that's just as worn,
Lamenting as I lie folorn.
Yes this sin is self(ish)-pity,
But God, I feel completely shitty
So in my pain and in my city,
I write this pointless dying ditty.
(a new addition to the j. eydmann annals of bad hangover bad poetry)



