found

A taste in my mouth as bitter as sin
As bitter as persimmon, green in its skin

Acrid as smoke from yesterday’s fire
Dry as ashes from a funeral pyre

It is resignation, acceptance and good common sense
The ingredients of madness, bourgeois’ last defense

My life goes on, predictable and staid
To think that this frustration is about getting laid

When lusts slaking
Is there for the taking