MEN AND MACHINES AND GIRLS

I want to die in a machine and get my limbs crushed and my blood thrown upon burning metal and to die, to die, TO DIE!! I don’t fit into this world, no day job moving shit brown boxes from A2B in a warehouse, no long term girlfriend to love me and be there for me when I feel down, few real mates to back me up balls to the wall.

See on TV speeding bikes with riders on the Isle of Man TT races, one is embraced by his crying lady after his race; tears of joy not sadness. Imagine tears of a similar gal seventy years ago when her sweetheart dies in a Hurricane fighter by Nazi gunfire from Fink’s Dornier bombers. If I was to die in or under a machine what lady other than my mother would mourn passing?

There is no one for me since she left me for reasons I don’t fully understand, I think I’m friends with a lady who draws planes but she’ll be crazy as a jester to be involved with me. Will she show up and walk with me? Me, a guy who has his dole stopped for turning down a job that is three buses away? No one cares for my writing but me and a few others who are as mad and desperate as me. Will she pick me up Sunday in her new Golf car, the new gal I wanna see?