Four walls and a fly

There was no one specific, he wrote for, except for himself
He wrote because he had too
He wrote it for the bumbs
The one`s on Night-shift
The one`s who where down and out
The one’s staring at the walls
Those pissing blood
Shitting bricks

He looked like shit on the outside
But was the `world champ` on the inside
He drank like a fish, wrecked the places where he lived
He took the loneliness and deciphered some of it
The walls & typewriter was his companions,
And the occasional fly
His name was Charles,
sometimes he referred to himself as
Chinaski/

John Lennon said
“You give me cancer, and I l give you art”

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