Fifty Two Days

Fifty two days I lasted.
Not many people were sure
how it had happened.
Hell!
I had money,
an easy job
and a lot of free time.

From outside you might think
that they are better things to do
with £400 a week,
but when the only people saying otherwise
are married, or divorced
or depressed or sitting at home
watching prime time television
or still believing in that man upstairs,
-who for the record was put there
by the same people that gave us
banking systems,
and the sickness behind American Presidencies.
It's all the same, no word of a lie-
well, you soon stop listening.

Do not think for a second
that I fight or rape or cry.
I drink and discuss
or muse over Bukowski.

Those fifty two days taught me a lot
about you, them and I,
but today is day fifty three.
I am shaking hard,
I can still see ants
that aren't there,
and christ!
MY HEAD!

But, to live...
to really exist among people
who aren't the direct products
of bile.
well sweetheart...
it's Priceless.