last night i dreamt i was made to kill
all the people ive ever met
i had to pick everyone up at busstops
and drive them to their sudden death
the timetables were made to tell my life
and people came in their order
we spoke, i suppose, for the last time, and smiled
before i carried out my murder
i was to drive them round a corner at speeds
not fit for that kind of road...
smash head on into an oncoming petrol
tanker, making it explode
i woke up in the drivers seat, no more
than three inch stumps for legs
at which point Bob Barker congratulated me
and killed me with a £100,000 cheque.
i woke myself up from that punching the bedroom wall
of the guy i was dating at the time
he very rapidly threw my clothes at me, screaming
get out, or im calling 999
i walked out, and the following 76 miles
to the nearest familiar place
apologised for the lateness of my arrival and asked
"could i sleep in a spare space?"
the reply was not anticipated(not do i believe was it remotely deserved)
and the tone was one of spite
"theres no room for you here, im going to bed. goodnight."
closed the door and turned off the light.
poop, Tim and cheese