I can’t be arsed to think today,
I’m out of words I want to say.
Yet still my fingers yearn to type
and stab and prod like a sharpened knife.
I can’t be arsed today to care,
yet so much darkness i’d like to share.
I’ll write of sins and tragedies
and immortal sluts upon their knees.
Today I cannot give a fuck..or two,
My angel quit, she said we’re through.
Now it’s me and devil dearest,
he’s searching for an exit nearest.
So today it’s just my feet and I,
perhaps I’ll sink, but I’ll likely fly.
Karen Hayward ©2016