Blurred Illegal Match

Drinkin' cold coffee, smokin' unfiltered Luckies,
Strummin' on a git-ar with 3 broken strings.
Eatin' spoiled rice krispie sandwiches without the mayo,
Waitin' for the letters no postman ever brings.

Fakin' illegal orgasms with a no amperage dildo,
Jammin' to some music no one else can hear.
Writin' long love letters to your blurred and pockmarked image,
Startin' each and every one with My Darlin' Dear.

Rememberin' the comb-over that started in your chest hair,
And wrapped itself around me on its travels to your head.
Longin' for your grunts and groans that echoed off the mud roof,
Thinkin' since you've dumped me, you should be dead.

Loadin' up the shotgun with cyanide laced bullets,
Followin' your trail through the darkenin' night.
Findin' a moldy match from your old camp fire,
Got you in the cross hairs; firin' with all my might.