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john-edward-smallshawPoems
There are inmates in outpatients and patients in side wards with ingrowing toenails, Doctors who mumble old people who stumble apple crumble at lunchtime a woodbine for the smoking room which doubles as a lead lined tomb for when the X-ray's run wild. He has no compunction in diagnosing dysfunction I wonder who died and made this man a God. When they do an autopsy and cut bits off of me I think that It'll shock them when they see Blackpool Rock printed right through me. I return to the inmates who've been discharged from a cannon, I feel like a man on a mission which is wholly unlikely. The Doctor's tread lightly now inject me twice nightly now how I wish I was back in the outpatients but I have patience, I'll wait, an unstable inmate tranquilised and stabilised. a hamster on a wheel.
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Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
The execution of hope
There are inmates in outpatients and patients in side wards with ingrowing toenails, Doctors who mumble old people who stumble apple crumble at lunchtime a woodbine for the smoking room which doubles as a lead lined tomb for when the X-ray's run wild. He has no compunction in diagnosing dysfunction I wonder who died and made this man a God. When they do an autopsy and cut bits off of me I think that It'll shock them when they see Blackpool Rock printed right through me. I return to the inmates who've been discharged from a cannon, I feel like a man on a mission which is wholly unlikely. The Doctor's tread lightly now inject me twice nightly now how I wish I was back in the outpatients but I have patience, I'll wait, an unstable inmate tranquilised and stabilised. a hamster on a wheel.
john-edward-smallshaw
Written by
john-edward-smallshaw
70/English
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
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