A study in Poetry

The forgotten four letter word

A room full of poisonous gas

The fat women sings in the background but I say: I'll pass.

For I've been left with less than nothing,

How can this be something?

As the end becomes anew before I pass,

I realize: The truth is for guys like us: the feeling,

It lasts.

Because we know The four letter words are not the fucking, shitting, or the damning.

No, it's the loving and the lusting.

We're all forced to do it, no pass.

The lusting,

It leaves you fucking

Or ducking

Until you die wishing for something that lasts.

This thing, contrary to common misconception, does not pass.

You could call it love, but few find this thing.

But like happiness, you'll never know lust from love until you're old and passing, passing, passing

Or until it's fucked you dry and kicked you to the seemingly never ending road on your ass.

And that's the four letter word, the one that most call "love". But the truth is, it's lust. Because it always leaves someone dragged out on their ass.