Moan and groan,
with aching bone,
I type my grief
into my phone,
whinge and cringe,
like a rusty hinge,
I lubricate,
commensurate,
thoughts that drip
from a cerebral plate,
seized upon by ravenous dogs.com,
I kick the scraps
from my boots
for the mentally impoverished to feed upon,
so I'm poor
and I'm rich,
as I stand in this ditch,
with wealth
no thief could ever steal,
and that I
have only ever won
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