His wife said, hangover or not, you rarely make sense.

He was doing his best

but all the killin was killin him

in return.

Tried,

turning over a new leaf 

tried sleeping on his head in the shadows

either way he believed

 there would be

a new breed of bitches

needed to save the day.

Life had never truly been a utopia

Nor could he ever pass his ideal

through

the eye of a needle.

For the backend of ideals

are always

a bit too fat in the hips

of reality, anyway.

But that’s the way he claimed

to like it.

Deniers be damned.

don’t you agree?

at least on this

for today at least

lets forget about

that.