close we all are
to the asylum
one minute you are
pointing your rifle at the accountant
who fucked you over
and stole all your money
and the next thing you know
you are trapped by the mind police
and sitting strapped in
brilliant lilywhite environs
how far we all are
from sanity
wasting our life pulses
trapped in mouse cages
as if a comfy retirement
could possibly be worth all that
how could i
let this happen
how much
is too much
when do the clock farts
go from oppressive
to malevolently suggestive
how many nights must be drunk
before you are approved
for a sweet soft slide
into oblivion?
where is
the end
of the line?
