My Bowels Hold A Mystery

My bowels hold a mystery
What it is I cannot see
But simply put, my destiny
Does not look very bright to me

I lay to sleep in my own bed
But then I wake as night is dead
And ponder in my splitting head
Until the sky turns deadly red

I cannot feel what I have ate
But still I feel so fine and great
I run out of my picket gate
Why can't I just sit and wait?

Clock is ticking, clock has turned
Ticking, tocking, time is burned
But still the sleep that I have yearned
That little guy has not returned



Poetry by weirdzarun
Read 506 times
Written on 2007-01-21 at 03:26

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