A BROKE MAN'S THOUGHTS
I'm a man in my prime,
I barely have a dime.
What does my mind say?
What thing do my hands crave?
Indeed, it's money.
My mind screams for it.
My hands desperately want to touch it.
Right now, whoever offers it to me is considered a friend,
While whoever asks for it from me is considered a fiend.
Nowadays, supper rules the day.
Lower, my tummy gets every day.
I'm now looking hollow.
My slim figure makes me very easy for a snake to swallow.
How can a man be so broke?
I find it hard to cope.
To die of hunger or to take a rope,
Which of them should a man choose?
Well, I chose none.
I would rather put on a mask and carry a gun,
Patrolling the streets with threats in my mouth and hand,
Searching houses for any money I find around.
If there is no gun,
I will take a knife and unite with the dark,
Covering myself with a hoodie as I charge on my victims with full stark,
Taking anything that I can find from them.
I don't care if doing that will make my soul condemn.
YOU ARE READING
My Poems
PoetrySelf-written poems that are woven around nature, feelings, the world and so many other things. Some of my poems are what you might relate to. So, I urge you all to savour the beauty of poetry with me.
