You’ve got that far away look, they’re giving you the liquid cosh and they’re ‘nutting you off’ because you embarrass them, you’re going to Broadmoor or maybe to Rampton and they’ll put the clamps on to keep you inside, a drink of largactil, an antipsychotic, depressingly familiar and then it’ll kill ya and the kill’s in the shuffle, the wasting of muscles, the brain cells that flake away in that far away look.
State sponsored death camps filled up with old tramps and those that don’t fit,
a drink of largactil, just enough so it kills you, just enough ’til your eyes pop out of your head, but you’re not really dead see, they’ll not have a post mortem because that wouldn’t suit them in Broadmoor or Rampton they just put the tramps on
a higher dosage.
© 2015 – 2016, John Smallshaw.