For one quiet day,
The queen sits and rules.
Her subjects love her,
Her people adore her,
She is royal and good.

Her palace shrieks,
Insurrection crashing about her ears,
Crisis biting at her jewel adorned heels.
Yet she slays in her finery,
Marching about the halls
Because her people absolve her.

This Queen is good.
This Queen is royal.
The people love thier Queen.
Her peers loom over the queen.

The day is quiet.
The queen does good.

For one quiet day.

The mood is blue,
The day is blue,
The red has taken over.
The red is clean,
Close and pure.
The red washing at the blue.
The blue is true,
The red cuts through,
This purple mess is mine.
Its royal blue, as red bleeds through,
My blue man walks on by.

Bonfire shower,
Scrub the life away,
Tap severed,
Burning bridges light my way.

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?