so i woke amongst jackals, all brandishing guns,
their faces ill curved, these outlandish gray aliens.
and my heart that once stopped when some harlot absconded
bled a note in petrol blood and tipped stomach's candle.
not a scream of the dawn, no yells of any morn,
simply scrawny, final, burning out of the glum.
at lease one hand of course, coulda been few feet too,
didn't even care if the blue wires didn't go with the glue.
horrible strain of the underused crumble
for pie-type solutions or candy barracudas.
maybe there was a reason in some afterlife,
when the aftershave shoved the cherry ablaze.
but this is now and we gotta check the holodeck wreck
simulate stimulations for stem-cell characters.
why insult them with just half of a brain? stoop a little lower,
boost it down to ten percent, nine, eight, six, three, -2.
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