3.00 am, the witching hour,
when people wake up screaming
panic stricken and weeping
praying for a lost soul somewhere
yet completely unaware
that an hour an forty five minutes ago
cupid died by drowning
in a tall glass of something strong
into which a young lass was crying.
Every dawn at this very time
he chokes on ***** or cigarette smoke
straight after posting
a suicide poem she wrote.
As his heart beat slows
eyes close
no one notices no one knows
incidentally another John Doe.
Disturbed by love songs
all night long
rocking back and forth
losing all control
she inevitably gives in
and revives him
only to watch him die again
the next day at 1.15 am