I sit here on the 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
some damned gall,
at 71,
my brain cells eaten
away by
life.
rows of books
behind me,
I scratch my thinning
hair
and search for the
word.
Now
Charles Bukowski
(1)
Poem topics: away, hair, life, brain, floor, yellow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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