You cough yourself
Out of bed
Head spinning
Guts on fire
Swaying on senseless feet
You raise your hand
You point your peeling finger
To the corner of your cottage
To the baker woman there
Not more than a girl really
Strange and shy
Now terrified
And as she's pulled and pushed
And ripped away
Suddenly under covers
You stir and
Have a sip of water
Have a crust of bread
Floating in a sea
Of tainted crumbs
You fever-dream
The end of the world
No comments:
Post a Comment