Wednesday, 14 April 2010

tired heart

tired eyes
tired bones

if i could really talk to anyone i'd say
"hi"
"what about my tired heart?"
"yours is one of many" they'd say.

I don't know my local heroin dealer.
i'd say "hello. Where's oblivion?"
"right here" i'd hope they'd reply.

i dont know my local loner
i'd say "why are you so old?"
they'd say "go away"

i do know my local scene magazine editor.
"why did you ignore me in the street? " i'd ask.
"because i'm a fucking cuntbubble birthed from my mothers quim"

i'd hope for a response.

i am a ball of cement swaying slowly on a precipice. a precipice adjoined on all sides my sheer drops of one inch.

and if i wake up to late i dont leave the house.

i wake up late alot.

No comments:

Post a Comment