Poets

I want to unwind the way clocks do at times. I want to be real and less imaginary. These walls could pretend that I exist in this mess. I wish it were true but this fox is cowardly.

I've got some insects in my stomach. They all live there for the air. Somehow we were all made from nothing. But these people don't seem to care.

I hear the floorboards moaning, And the walls they make me sick. I'm living in a coffin Full of men who paid for tricks.