Lost Souls
hanging around
waiting for something to do
but there is nothing,
if he smoked he'd smoke a cigarette
fag-end of time
waiting
dynamic apathy, nothing
to do,
lives wasted in schizophrenia
wandering about, straying into cafes
hopeless pints
never a girlfriend
anxious hours
waiting-rooms, injections
occasional sweet moments of joy
a hundred years of boredom in a minute
Jesus spare us
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Added by Poetry Lover
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