The worlds a friend who doesn’t care

sitting with a drink in hand in their underwear 

the worlds a friend who won’t ask

how you are, for fear of being taken to task

the worlds a apathetic snob

who treats you like a knob 

and drives you round the bend 

and then pretends they don’t 

like a narcissist who gaslights you every time they talk 

I am sorry but all they do is squawk the loudest

and the proudest 

the worlds a crowd who can’t remember your name 

or all that you overcame to be here.

The worlds a computer game stage 

that makes you want to rage quit 

but you feel like a blue tit 

wanker 

cranking it up to the giga watts 

but there is a power outage

the worlds a woman who you like

but never get to speak to 

she’s beautiful 

but she’s seems to see through you

The worlds is a beautiful game 

but the football you play is rubbish a shameful 

sham 

when your name is…

The worlds a racket 

trying to make a wage packet 

but all you do is stack it 

As in fall

when you try to walk tall

and wise

but you are always met with phoney surprise

I am sure this poem could go on 

forever 

but it was written for those like me who like to be tethered to their therapist 

I am sure there’s a clever answer somewhere 

but maybe the hecklers won’t speak

they been waiting here all day for me to take it in the cheek.