Not dead yet

Someone made an effigy
and they’re sat in a
sticking pins in me,
in fits and spurts it blasted hurts,
someone made an effigy.

You get used to abuse and it ain’t no use
to complain, but I do,
who made the effigy?
was it you?


it’s all about the sensation you feel
when you can’t feel a thing,
but the pain.

Fingers like leaves,
they shudder and drop
and my chest,
feels like a string vest
tightening on me,
someone made an effigy.

You’re so wrong if you think
this is so long from me,
fuck the effigy and the maker
it’ll take more than that
to count me out
lay me flat.

See you when I’m better.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.