Like a dustbin my mind is full
With ideas of different sorts
Blue, black and white
Pigmented with shabby spots.
Like crows over the carcass
And flies over garbage,
Hover over my mind
Ideas smelling sewage.
I am sorry my poor mind
But why don’t you go mad
It is better to be inside
Than salute a Mr. Cad.
I would ask you Mr. God
If not were you but dead
The cause you play me so
Like a dog with a rotten bread.
Should I weep or laugh
At my sullen sunken soul
Which is doomed to suffer in bits
Like a worm under the sole.
Why I always fail
To adjust like other men,
Why my mind you wail
Before chopping like a hen.
No one listens to fowl,
Not the butcher nor the knife,
You wail and or you rail
But gone is your life.
Ah how pleasant it is
To think about you Death!!
But how tough it is
To stop this curst breath!!
Give me some more pills
And let me sleep again
Drive the crows and flies
And make my veins sane.
No comments:
Post a Comment