Nights trussed in kitchen string dreams
Awake,sweating, splitting at the seams
Two weeks on the wagon, I've flatlined
Waiting in my body bag, killing time
Drawn to dark corners like a bug
Inspecting every speck of dust
Everything hurts, even daylight
And insane people like flies
Linger too close for too long
My skin clammy, pimpled, wrong
Half a mind to kill someone
Don't know where the other half has gone
No doubt it slipped out with a fart
Or exploded during some simple task
The remains left on a shelf in specialty meats
Next to the liverwurst, ham and cold turkey
© shaun patrick green 2013
