On a February morning,
a sword sliced me in half so clean
you can't discern a mark.
Only bread and hotdogs to eat,
and cold water from the fridge of an unpaid electric bill.
Blood slowly gushed out off my guts
as the world engulfed in white imprisoned me.
Only the scent of smoke and the burp of alcohol
kept me from moving this now-numbed body.
Heaven's reached and I could sleep.
Driving through the blinding streets,
Boom!
I found myself chasing a blurred figure
through a narrow white hallway.
Every tread trailing the wheels
of a blanketed piece of timber.
It eats me up like a worm nibbling on my skin,
this agony amidst pleasure was way unforeseen.
As they swipe my card at the cashier's desk,
it was but obvious that I will never forget
the same February morning with hotdogs and bread;
the scent of smoke and alcohol, the comfort it begets.
