Me, The Misser, The Late

Entry hundred forty-one me, the misser, the late
Miss years to make words of what I’m missing
Shame I’m shaking, a loss, a crap
Hung by heartwrack in the grasslands me, the pridest, the slack
Come through rain through window new approval seas a headrest, a home a peace
Having all my needies covered me, the hoper, the hole
Family leaver, shit repeater and a rancid grudge-hold
Entry hundred forty-one starts back when I dared
God knock me down again not a single thing I’ve done meant a scrap
Changed the stance of anyone thought by now I’d left the barn
But I’m scared the fields, and I’m scared the houses, I’m scared the millers
yard