Going in the wind.

I'm losing it,
away goes my wit.
I've lost it before,
so I know the score,
the devils knocking on my door.
He never quits knocking,
my lifes always rocking,
it use to come to socking.

Everyone I socked,
was devil docked.
They needed a beating,
some even deleting.
Just like some of these phony poets,
like some of us don't know it.

I try not to judge,
but
some of these fools evily grudge.
Their creativity,
is in their evil activity.
If they could,
they'd eat at us
like termites after wood.

Eat at me,
I'll give you more chit than
your eyes can see.
Cause I'm about to leave anyway,
tired of all this phony play.
I could be working on my books,
instead of fooling with evil crooks.

Like I said I'm losing it quick,
I might throw a brick.
Right in a deserving face,
then get the heck out of this place.

One