It's that time of the month and I'm feeling quite ill.
It's the time of the month when I have to pay the bills.
My family only eats steaks and I have to pay a fortune for meat.
My son called Sweden can't sit down because I blistered his seat.
My damn wife spent over two thousand dollars on jewelry and cosmetics.
When I got the bill, I had a heart attack and she had to call the paramedics.
Now I have a twelve thousand dollar hospital bill.
I wish this was a dream, please tell me it isn't real.
I can't afford insurance and last night I was robbed.
To be able to pay these bills, I had to get two extra jobs.
I work twenty-one hours a day, I only have three hours to sleep.
It's no mystery why everybody who I know sees me weep.
I don't have enough money left to buy food for a mouse.
And the stinking bank is going to foreclose on my house.
My family is the reason for these bills that I receive.
If there is a God, they will pack their bags and leave.
(This is a fictional poem.)