The Wheel

Made on the masochist,

spine of a solipsist,

angry, high and pissed.

Dine on fatal flaw,

raped red – rub it raw,

time finds me alone,

so what, I’m at home.

 

If every day felt just like these,

I’d slit my wrists and die appeased,

but 99% of the time

luck turns around my state of mind.

Grip onto the speeding bullet,

take the plunge, it don’t last,

for every down, there is an up,

get off the fence – fuck the rest.

 

This man if free,

but tied to the wheel.

Sick, old and ugly,

disturbing appeal.

You are free

as you believe.

Grip the wheel,

at least it’s real.

 

HG – 2000-2005

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