I lie I'm bored I ask myself Why? Why am i lying in this bed A bandage round my eye A cast on my foot A plaster on my nose the paint of these Crummy walls Are my new pass time
A mash of shapes Fill your semi closed eyes You try to make sense Of the shape of your body You move a muscle and can't It falters No moven't No emotion Just a muscle in a hand.
Socks, socks Smell like pots Never seem that clean Can look quite stripy Or spotty Or pipey Or a mixture, in between. Worn every day From December to May And then you go bare-foot