When will the paramedics come?
I lost my finger in a midnight rave,
****** to the bone and drunk as hell.

I think the doctor is trying to **** me.
She dispenses pills like a Pez-Head,
to send me to sleep,
to miss out on poetry,
but at least I'll catch the bus to work.

Cap and gown dreams keep visiting me.
I don't know what it means when she
lifts her blouse to reveal old scars,
when she delivers my life
in a steel-framed certificate.

When will the politicians come?
I lost my faith in freedom, when I was
clothed to the bone in distraction.