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January 10, 2013


I am sick and you are ill.
Little pill, little pill.
Somewhere peaceful.
Sometime still.
Someplace good, against my will.

It’s not exactly true though, is it?
‘Cause, whilst you’ve spared me from the gibbet.
You’ve got your price now, on my head.
Just to break me on the wheel instead.

I am tired and you’re asleep.
Little creep, little creep.
Plans to make.
Routines to keep.
Living long and living cheap.

This is also spurious shit.
And I could never put my name to it.
‘Cause, funnily enough, the price you pay.
Is deferred, with interest, day by day.

Lord, I pray, I shan’t succumb.
Little crumb, little crumb.
Somewhat serene.
Somewhat dumb.
Lord, let me stay forever numb.


From → Poetry

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