Good To The Last Drop Poem by Matthew Boisjolie

As I open a fresh can and break the metal seal, The aroma of depedency fills my naval cavity, and make me snease from the overwhelming for-granted-ness, that is show to me, Pouring that first cup of belongings that are taken from me, every morning to try to help me along my way, Needing sugar but none is found except for eveyone else, Being numb enough to go up and ask for seconds, from the years of pain and misery that i have endured, Buying a new can to think ahead and plan, altho that can is gone, before i even get it home, along with my car, my clothes, and my patients, that are getting roudy, and running in a circle, Putting money to live while others take to steal, to benefit themselves, and laugh when i drop. Im good till the last Drop, But this IS MY LAST DROP! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !