You'd pay a fortune
for a painting like this but
I walk into you.
The weight of the world
on his shoulders the death of
A leaf in Autumn
Half past eleven
and I'm half way through my life
lost but still breathing.
See them float upstairs
like they're made of helium
All the dreams I had.
The wooden gate farts
and the dog at the end barks
The dead sleep I drown
Wailing and screaming
Hell is a frying pan full
of freshly cut chips
God makes the world spin
anticlockwise the spider
dies with one small flush.
