wake up

i've waited so long for the taste of oil
the abrasive rub of canvas
its clinincal stare
has me gasping for air on the floor
oh Now the door
has my mind wandering to thoughts
of more unclean things
the twisted imagination up here
knocking on my brains
wooden
door
to see if i'm home.

starting to write
when you feel like shite
how it makes your fingers lust for something
more fullfilling.

story inside story inside stories of power and love
and all that shit
fantasy makes me sick
drama bores me stiff
facts seem like lies
and still this looks like wank

can't be fucked to count sylables
or research pentameter
and i'm no god so there goes my seven days
again, is it possible to become
god
i need to sleep in