Feeding the amber-eyed owl
that lives behind the sofa .
Chucking it frozen chicken ,
sliding down the wall .
That owl will get brain disease ,
same as me .
Eating unthawed food .
No posable thumb .
Can't use a microwave .
And the humidity rises ,
just like the throbbing abscess
in the roof of my unholy mouth .
And the fat bitch next door
skips down the path
like a baby hippo
when the Mr Whippy van calls .
She comes back smiling , grinning ,
laden with creamy , orgasmic junk .
And later she will experiment ,
in an idle , private moment ,
with her husbands new cordless drill .
Accidently give herself some hammer action ,
and almost die from the cataclysmic thrill .
And I'm living on soup and Nurofen ,
and coughing up the bile of old wounds .
Reading about The Holocaust ,
right through the sleepless nights .
Pacing the floor , barefoot and moaning ,
spitting words of condemnation
at the craters of the moon .
And the owl watches me .
And the dog watches me .
And I watch myself .
Out-of-body experience ,
boosted by the chromed slickness of pain .
Exacerbated by years of neglect .
Excoriated with surgical precision .
Excommunicated by freedom of choice .
Dying since birth ,
by little increments .
Pleading for more time ,
in a sympathy-seeking voice .
Straining to hear something .
Searching for anything .
But there is only silence screaming above the noise .