Inane Days - Poem by wolfgang wiseman
i wake up.
i stumble downstairs.
i put some eggs on to boil.
i flick the kettle on,
and listen to the whistle harmonise with the dog's tongue as she greedily laps away at her fanny.
i rip open a letter:
another futile threat from the taxman.
i spend a few moments thinking about all of the people trying forlornly to pay off the overwhelming national debt.
i go outside to the shed.
i grab a sledgehammer,
then smash it repeatedly into my ribs,
until i am able to lean far enough forward
so that i can rip off my balls with my own teeth.
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