Sick Leave

Killing my every spare moment with buzz and with noise.

Made it thus far without booze spilling on my records of choice.

Ears bleeding from sound attacking my senses like thirsty wolves

But I’ve only made it this far through thoughts that dissolve.

Spreading my hopes on bread without guilt to eat them all up.

My last week’s happy face on the streets was a cover up

And my covers are tinted with deep blue undertones, if you noticed.

When death and I finally waltz, I might even get a bonus.

They call my eyes playful but painfully so, if that’s a hint.

The chaos behind those greyish stones could use a lighter tint.

A true artist never unveils tricks or techniques but I oppose –

When graveyard goes for the flash button, I strike a pose.

With each coming second the buzz will become a craftier thieve.

You’ll ignore these lines while I apply for another sick leave.