Why,
So often I feel,
Like a slither of entrails
ejecting from a wound
In my heart?

My both hands,
I stretch
To grasp my guts
But expose to mockery, instead

My life stands erect
Waging war against people
People roar like waves
in a midnight thunder.

Lightening strikes on my nose
I try to breathe, But
Collapse to the morning news
And to her steaming coffee.