bloated from the alcohol
spinning
lips and lungs cracked
by cigarette smoke
lying, watching
death crawl across the tile
picking up speed
all you can do is wait
the poem is just
words
and yours
are all bad
but then
the sun rises
and you can see
its' minute and second
hands
its your time
the poem is just words
and yours are all bad
but they're wept
from your soul
you can hardly stand
but you do
because
you could never stand
for defeat