I have a song
Stuck in my head.
It's repeating itself.
Over and
Over and
Over again.
I don't know the
Name of it though.
It's on the
Tip of my tongue,
But I can't say it.
Can't name it.
Can't speak a single word of it.
It's like some kind
Of unknown force that's
Keeping me from spilling
The name.
Sounds stupid,
But that's how it feels.
That's how it is.
I was humming it
A small while ago,
That's what got me
To write about it.
An officer told me
To shut it.
How childish.
That officer was
One I haven't seen before.
She looked young,
In her twenties maybe.
Same as me.
Long stringy blond hair,
Probably fake.
Short,
Green eyes,
A little chubby,
And a face that would
Make anyone want to look away.
She ain't pretty,
Trust me.
Her nose looks like
Pinocchio's.
Her eyes look like she's
On drugs and about
To pop right out of
Her skull.
She's got these
Long fingernails too,
Painted pink.
Gross,
I don't know how
Women think that shit
Looks good,
It's creepy.
It's like they're trying
To be like an eagle,
Talons and all.
A lot are
Loud like them, too.
No offense, women.
Anyways,
That lady must've gotten
That job just recently.
They probably only hired her
Because they were desperate.
Would they really take
Her in when she's like
That if they weren't desperate.
But I'd like to
Think that it
Was out of
Desperation
Over anything.
It makes the
Most sense to me.
DU LIEST GERADE
Sal
KurzgeschichtenBeing stuck on death row can be pretty boring. Why not write about everything until the inescapable death that waits for me just as much as I wait for it.
