Eros And His Odious Macrophagatious Torment Wheel Poem by luke holt

i am strange to this touch
this touch i feel

apart from the wicked snares of hellfire preconceptions and the monotonous snickers of feeble minded tassels with their condescending mediocre indiscretions, i scramble across the intersection

i j walk as i light a parliament looking ever so hipster and brooding
just what the broads would want if i weren't me

just like my patience with anthro-society, my cigarette dwindles

as enamored couples whirl by looking ever so euphoric i wounder

'how can i be sentient and not feel this way, on the day where roses, cheap chocolates and even cheaper condom sales skyrocket like a lithium charged dynamo, how can i not feel nostalgic on the birthday of my great grandmother, , who's mattress i now sleep on, who gave me musty encyclopedias from the book stand on the great Utopian knish wafted air of Russian Brooklyn'

and then intuition peaks
i am alone

but why?
why can't a sensitive, intelligent fellow like myself find a sweet loving woman?
hmmm...
AH!
because i care too much for people


((typical v day poem from a boy to girl))

'roses are red, violets are blue
now shut the f*** up and s**k my d***'

i rest my case


dear readers: this poem will only remain posted for today, i feel it is a testament of my frustration and was not written with care

thank you
~L.H.~