Poem

So here’s the syringe.
Euthanise me. Wash the blood
down the drain. A little water
clears us of this deed. Anxiety,
Depression and PTSD. Another
number on the stats, more
blood on the sheets. You riddle
me with terror unexpectedly.
Barely a small step when I can
take a leap. Trying to be punk
rock, but what are we? What
are we, when we’re asleep?

So here’s the syringe.
Euthanise me. Wash the blood
down the drain. A little water
clears us of this deed. Anxiety,
Depression and PTSD. Another
number on the stats, more
blood on the sheets. You riddle
me with terror unexpectedly.
Barely a small step when I can
take a leap. Trying to be punk
rock, but what are we? What
are we, when we’re asleep?

Your email address will not be published. Comments will display after being approved by a staff member. Comments may be edited for clarity.