I usually break their hearts,
buy not wanting to bed them again.
Ruining this that and all the parts,
again and again and again.
I really want to die right now,
just thought I’d mention.
But the thought of your own suicide,
gives me hope for redemption.
It will be hard to keep you in my sites,
after you do it to yourself.
It’s my turn next by rights,
there will be nothing else to live for myself.
I hear the angels begin to sing,
when you pick up my gun.
But you’re not fooling anyone in our ring,
we know you’re just having fun.
dead beat poet 