Tadeusz Bukowski


Some are on their last breath, dyin’ to live

Others drown in a bottle, flirt with ending it all over a spliff

They call me many names, but you can’t claim I ain’t legit

A substance smitten nit-picking nitwit

Lyrical vomit written, I don’t spit
Prophet of a kid, scorchin’ bars so get a mitt

This noose more tightly knit than my family unit

Ain’t that some shit

And I can’t even tie one properly.


All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Tadeusz Bukowski.
Published on e-Stories.org on 02/18/2020.


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