Hunger

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tock

The clock tick- tick- tick-
Talks to me,
Sneering, jeering,
Peering with its peepers
At the people who live
In my young & old souls-
They’re all cunts anyway
And in comes the railroad tool
Held by any old fool with a cord
Around his neck & wrists
And a beard to hide his shame
A swing, and a direct hit to my fame
Tick- tick- tick-
Knock me out to give me a reason
For my pre-existing conditions of
“I hate you” and “I need you”
To sleep, perchance to dream,
No.
To sleep, to dream no more,
Ay, that’s the rub.
But every minute without a drink in it is
A minute with an intact face
And that hell of a wall-mounted,
Tightly wound whirligig goes
Round and round
The sound of the clock
tick- tick- tick- tock.

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This entry was published on February 4, 2014 at 11:39. It’s filed under Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “Tick, Tick, Tick, Tock

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