Terror: a poem

Written in a bistro on a napkin last week.



Terror

Absent outside stimulation
Alone with my own thoughts
As the space closes upon me
Sweat flows in this cold room.

Now aware that a full attaché
Without books is empty
‘Though stuffed with a morning’s work
Fails in this quiet hour.

My refuge from early summer
Regains former allure
As the café napkin holder
Becomes my writing pad.

Originally posted by Wulebgr
Written in a bistro on a napkin last week.



Terror

Absent outside stimulation
Alone with my own thoughts
As the space closes upon me
Sweat flows in this cold room.

Now aware that a full attaché
Without books is empty
‘Though stuffed with a morning’s work
Fails in this quiet hour.

My refuge from early summer
Regains former allure
As the café napkin holder
Becomes my writing pad.

Originally posted by Wulebgr
Written in a bistro on a napkin last week.

Here I sit all broken hearted,
Came to sh*t, but only farted.

Written on a men's loo wall, Manchester

Originally posted by Bowmann
[b]Here I sit all broken hearted,
Came to sh*t, but only farted.

Written on a men's loo wall, Manchester[/b]

Originally posted by lausey
Suppose it is better than:

[b]Bowmann's girlfriend in bed had a fit,
He expected a fart but had a sh*t.[/b]