Hang time as the Watchman whistles,
A merry tune dancing upon; The daisies.
Stiffened, to attention.
Rigid salutations, graciously fragile.
What use is a cornman in a field of daisies?
When a Watchman watches such watchless whimsy?
The Watchman hangs in his field of daisies,
Rigid, salutations, in the hang time breeze.

Mind gangrene
***** soul.
Blood rot.
Surgery required.

Might meet some people
Might drink some whiskey
Might get high because its Saturday.

Clinging to happiness
Grip is slipping,
Another line
Another day
Another ***.
Another beer.
One last hurrah.
I wonder to myself,
Does my mother actually know me?

Cigarette,
Dressing gown,
Nose full.
She dances.

Hands around your throat
Side by side
Watching the sun go down

The knife finds its home.
It swallows me up, whole.
Blood for blood;
Pressure unbound,
A cheeky tickle for blush red cheeks.