Pissing In The Wind by Ian Lewis Copestick

I'm pissing In the wind,
farting into a thunderstorm.
I feel like Sisyphus heaving rock.
I'm nearly 50,
and I'm fucked.
Why, oh why does it always
have to be so difficult ?
Just when it feels like things
are running smoothly, God or
some other spoilsport has
to throw a big fucking spanner
right into my works.
Or is it me, subconsciously ?
It's strange how often these
things always happen to me.
But, no I'm not a masochist,
and the thought that I might
be causing myself so much
pain is enough to make my
head spin.
No, it's just my rotten luck.
If I fell into a barrel of tits,
I'd come out sucking my
thumb.
It's the way it's always been,
and I suppose it always will.
If it wasn't for bad luck,
I'd have no luck at all.

Ian Lewis Copestick is a 48 year old writer (I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting,  thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror Sleaze Trash.