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?

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    Do you agree that ratepayers in the city and on the Flats should subsidise some of the spending on rural roads in the district?

    See also:
    April 21 editorial, The local share of roads spending