I feel rubbed up the wrong way
Like an affronted cat
I am displeased
With my life
I've lived this way
As long as I can recall
I saw the shitstreams
Well in advance
But I didn't say
Been wandering through life
Kicking myself in this way
An abrasive development
Slightly grated on each day
Irritated by so much
It is a slow death of contentment
Hope dies by a thousand cuts
These noisy beings
They get too close
They push
They poke
Uncomprehending
As an elephant on an anhiill

I can't explain it
I couldn't describe the sensation
Of the black muted doughnut
In my brain
A hole at the core
That means loneliness
The infinity of it
Pouring in endlessly
And just one atom could block it
though it's a mile wide
Just that one little iota
Of understanding
I've seen it
Felt the blockage
It felt good
But it wasn't wanted
Or it was warped and injured
Or I was too wierd
Gestulating in an unknown language.

I ate his tendinous chords
And he dined on mine
An unconditional platefull
Served with the juices of the mind
Oxytocin marinaded in dopamine
A rich endorphin stew
It was too much
It was also not enough

"The poor thing"
devoid of all needs  you are exposed,  
Like a mute begger.
They walk on by  not knowing, 
The sensation of exposure  
the burn of the sun  (Or eyes)  
You squirm from my touch.  
I can identify,  
I hope a similar kindness returns me to some cool wet grass.

Waving at me from the thicket
(hullo!)
my lost glove
faded in its gesture
waving at the passers by merrily
sun bleached but definitely mine
swaying in the afternoon sunlight
here you are finally
in June
the other I threw away
gave up
scanned the pavement
searched the park
along the canal
eyes down
some nice stranger
has done this "good deed"
I know it was borne of kindness
fear of it getting muddy and wet
thinking they know best
I pass these waving garments
In the trees
(where no one is looking)
On a gate post
(the owner scanning the ground around)
On a bush in the bouncy breeze
(to be blown off into the undergrowth)
I pass them on the ground
And I leave the ****** thing
So it can be found!

I can't die with black toenails
The sock fluff, in the corners
That sit waiting to shock the world
I can't die with a hairy *****
Looking like a sleeping Chewbacka 
Unmaintained and with musk 
I can't die with crusty sleepy eye
The kind you forget
When you've not washed your face
Before walking the dog
You can....
Well, most of you
Who cares what the mortician thinks? 
Well I surey do
The mortician is my sister 
If you were me
You'd care too.