Playboys actually feel something

I read, I write, but I work less, less than nothing

I go to work with my Hugo Boss suit with my pocket full of MontBlanc pens

But, my notebook is empty of memories about yesterday

I'm not a Remembrandt or even a Bukowski

God bless I'm not them, so I would't be typing this on my computer

I'm perhaps a burden, a burden for my father

A burden for my mother

A obstacle for my sister

A dick and a portable wallet for my girlfriend

Am I gonna be like my dad someday?

Nice car, nice kids, with a beautiful wife?

What was my father doing in May 28th, 1986?

For certain something that worths more money than this poem

Probably he was just going to Law Classes

I should return to teach German or English

I should return to do something, something valuable

I just waist electricity, money and of course, time!

What a burden must be my presence!

Presence to know that I just sat here and write

Write about a lost love, a lost carreer or a lost study plan

Just one more night writing

Thinking about what would you be thinking if you could read this

You bet, that’s all your damn fault