Inferior Ways Poem by Dead Beat Poet
Inferior Ways
You need to get out,
they tell me in vain.
Buy me another,
drink to my pain.
The line outside,
is like the interior.
I cannot stand by,
and feel this inferior.
Thanks for the invite,
the ride and a drink.
Next time and always,
remember I think.
Give me a girl,
or something to say.
I'll be yours for a moment,
then we do it my way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 6:45:14 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
