My bipolar friend
pukes up her lungs at the bus stop,
my best friends are in love
and we are all sick.

Dogs in the city, sat on pavements
in buckets and floods.
Strangers chuck change at us.
We are all sick.

We are all sick,
sick like old flowers
wilted and crispy. Full of the joys
of a life, half lived in a vase.

Everyday we are dying
for other people.
Holding back hair and flagging down policemen.
We are all sick and tired,
all wasted and dying.
Sick
Sick
Sick
Sick