My clock strikes two
He's asleep
The dog gently snores
My mind's eye awake
Two in the morning
The middle of my day
Go cover the bird
She needs to sleep
Worked five tens
The hard days night
Boring ya all to death
Your coffins cold
It's lined with ice
The IP number hidden
In NTT as it melts away
Have warm sweet coffee
A Camel light if I want
Awake as it's my noon
Moon waning thus dark
Why bad boring verses flow
Not bad boring poetry
That starts the rhyme
In me
Go on living
Through writing forgiving
Me
For bad boring
Poetry
When he or she
Ask why I'm boring them
To
Their demise
It's wise
To fill your time
Writing rhyme on paper
Instead of wringing someones neck
But what the heck
I'm more a lover than a fighter
More uncovers a poet writer
Who control time
Bad poetry a boring cancer
Let death come the answer
Poetry written falling asleep
Sun will always shine
Words in me in a big heap
If they're your death bad boring sign.
