There’s a bath shaped hole right where my brain used to be.
Bruce Springsteen wrote and sang about a Wrecking Ball
Well, I know where he’s coming from when tonight I get hit again.
And dream about bath salts and a plug on a chain and shampoo.
In reality, my head is going under and I can feel chemicals burning my lips until the moment I break free and breathe the air heavenly.
I stand in nature’s blanket cold and shivering but I forgot its good to know you were there to put the blanket on and to comb my hair for me.
My prestige lies on the dresser brought home from a trip to London one day.
I forget I don’t need it when I hear your voice telling me that there’s something else except a to b not that It works today or yesterday or even tomorrow. It’s all gods plan for us mortals, you say. What plan? I reply, saying a quick prayer. Yours? Bentham’s plans for fillings not required, Operations cancelled worldwide, Ricketts in the family too? And me with a Mental Health problem.Your plan is one of misery if indeed it exists at all except in your mind. Never mind that. Come to bed.Let’s sail away.
Art for art’s sake!