Poetry

As death knocks at my front door
I cower behind a computer
Like six bits of shit and vermin
Recoiled by the slightest sting
You come about on the meadow
And send your ennui in to me
Like a deadly syringe
Of monotony and schedule
Of tone deaf laughter
And abominable taste
The lowest disgrace
Of exacted anguish
That relates myself to me
As your lovely face
 
In my premature ejaculatory phase
I writhed in the sheets of discomfort
And woke up to find the pain
More deeply than I could honor
So I turned unholy
And let the shadows eat my soul
As neurotic complexion
Devouring each and every morsel
Of child hood joy and golden light
Left inside this repugnant soul
 
I could redeem
But here I shall not