To pick up this chewed end pen and when no one is looking and
I want to jam the chewed end pen in my eye, the left one will do and I
want to ram it right through until it hits a nerve or possibly two.
I can spew out a rhythm with the vomit of a schism, but the madness
has been done once before,
I need a joiner
someone to come numb me or
someone to take numbness away,
ipso facto don’t come back though
the lace is never still and the curtains
Kill me with kindness your Highness
I am humbly your servant ’til dawn when
the Romans will come and
make a wish that you’d never been born.
But born though I be, the pen still hates me and I loathe the ink in
the pen, fuck it then don’t write,
spend the night reading Tolstoy
undress in the lamplight,
be coy with the white Knight,
they’ll hang you
tomorrow for sure,
© 2016, John Smallshaw.