To hell with it

I´m sitting down
with pen and paper scratching my head downtown,
thinking of writing something deep and sweet
but in my head I just hear a “bleeep”.

Is this even a poem?
fuck, I want to drink a jeroboam
it does has five freaking gallons!!

While sitting in downtown with a frown;
I actually started writing a poem of introspecting
of my wild being, I just couldn´t do it.
The title was going to be “A look inside”
to which I finally said by by,
and ended up writing this shit while I was on standby
waiting for a bus ride.

To hell with the introspective seeing of me.
I´m me, I sometimes understand me others I don´t want to be.
To much overthinking is not for me, so to hell with it
cause if I did I´d be a bit snit.

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses.