Drunken Fall

Whilst under the influence
Of many intoxicants
He falls on his face
With flair and grace
The impression left
Is at it's best
A a gruesome display
Which would leave many
In dismay
Blood on his chin
And a bloodied grin
Nose swollen like a
Mirinda can
At least falling on his face
Protected his hands

The author is quite clearly making a decisive and critical point regarding the state of the modern youth, and through references to the use of 'intoxicants' in such a negative light, crafts a verse of a foreboding nature. The moral of the story is enticingly potent through its simplicity: alcohol is to be avoided if one is to avoid injuring their nose to the point that it resembles a 'Mirinda can'.

Birthday Day

Birthday day
Hip hip hooray
Although in his eyes
He'd much rather stay
'nineteen forever'
Rather than age;
Twenty's plenty
That's agreed
A beer and a curry
Is all that he needs

Last day Of The Year

Last day of the year
But do not fear
For in a matter of hours
A new year will be here
Exactly the same
As the one just gone
But with a different digit
Next to the '1'

Existential Crisis

Existential crisis
In the middle of the night
Is
Something unexpected
Not easily solved by
Anything he can do,
For, when all is said and done
To do
Is to what?

Asleep

All his housemates are asleep
This is not okay,
he needs their company, for his sanity to
Keep
For on his own, he just procrastinates
And wastes his un-precious time
By writing such nonsense
As this unimportant rhyme
Somebody should really
Make him right some proper words
That aren't fucking stupid
And slightly absurd
But they're asleep.

Forgets How To Sleep

He forgets how to sleep
His sanity to keep
Though he is worn and exhausted
All his energy deported
To some distant and remote
Castle with a moat
Of fire and electric wire
To keep him from getting his respire
He still must find a way
To end and start the day

Needs To Work

He needs to work
Deadlines are looming
But try as he might
His mind is booming
With thoughts not of work
Or assignments due in
But rather of all together
Quite different things
He knows he must concentrate
But finds it a chore
All this thinking is making his brain
Sore


We can infer from this verse that the author is a master of procrastination: choosing to compose first-class poetry perfection rather than dealing with 'deadlines [...] looming': in itself a comment on the procrastination of society as a whole.