Today I'm not lifting my head
Today my head is lifting me
Stiff from pain, I take small consolation
from the medicine cabinet
I'm really, honestly sick
I have to hold tightly to the wall
I'm writing today off completely
please, let's not do it again tomorrow

And it's cold
In my madhouse attic
a gang stomps around
and they shout me into the corner,
me, in my own head

This is the type, who looks older
than his own grandfather
The type who studied media
but whom the media made a clown
Handsome, dark drunk boy,
whom compliments made convulse
the type whose ass crams
every inch of his baggy pants


Today don't touch me
just change out the pot
Say you have to go
If you don't, lie
It would be so, so easy
if you didn't have a head
My empty carcass
hates its head today

And it's cold…

Faces created not for beauty
composed from found objects
A couple, who by May or June
have drunk themselves golden brown
On a free morning
a workaholic wife gives a blowjob
to a man with a baffled face
an omelet didn't come to mind…

I am a mushroom