Peter Piper - Introspective Poetry

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Peter Piper received a prescription for Percocet.
And just like me, Peter P. perceives his life
As a quintet --of feeling,
Never really believing in real things,
Because he's never even seen them.
They have no meaning.

Peter Piper picked the life that he now lives,
But he sometimes wonders if it was given to him.
If it was written for him.
If the book that he writes, if the books that he will write
Are even written by him.

Peter ponders if those peppers he'd picked will ever amount to anything.
Did he pick the right fucking peck?
Maybe if things were different, maybe if he’d picked a different pepper
Somewhere down the line he would’ve already met her.

Sally; sells sex to construction workers outside of Seven Eleven.
She buys weed with the money and she does well for herself,
But she's lonely, despite company.

So it’s been said to her that she should settle down for the winter.
Find a man and stop selling her body to the highest bidder.
But she won't because she's never been a god damned winner.

Just like Peter, she didn't pick the right fucking side street.

Everyday they pass, but Peter doesn't work construction.
And every day they cry, knowing that they're missing something.
Because on that day, long ago, Peter picked the wrong fucking pepper
And now they have nothing.