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.