Fcuk it

Whats the point I ask myself
Of poverty versus excessive wealth
Now that you're gone who gives a siht
Now you are dead so deal with it

Likes a box of crap I say
When will this bullsiht go away
And fcuk right off to whence it came
When you were here, my brother, Shane

I'm fcuking angry
I'm pssied right off
That you have left
And buggered off

They found you laying in the hall
You had no time to make a call
For help or comfort to hold you
To take your hand and cry with you

This poem ends a tad early as I thought it best not to upload the final paragraph as it was an extremely angry sad drunken rant!