Straight Jacket Waltz Poem by matt fromm

Whistling at the bus stop
and my book bag ways heavy.
I Stagger and shuffle down the boulevard.
Leaning to my left, I light my self a stogie,
I think about some melody they can play while they lower me into hell.
A standard issue wino asked me for my dough.
He says it's for food.
But what the heck do I care.
I slide him a bill and advise him to have a ball.
Now I'm cursing at the world
for being so goddamn dimwhitted.
Surrounded
BY fizzed out light bulbs wearing Christian Dior.
I wanna sock it
to the pocket of the man who did this to the people.
Every where I look I see miles of iron lungs.
Lined up and seperated in perfect configuration.
Through the windows I see sullen,
dull eyed,
almost comatose faces.
The most horrifying scene I've ever seen.
Who ever lined these poor souls up like this,
covering the entire street with them
was mad, I thought.

Sick and tired of having it up to here with these pestky vampires.
Ducking through alleys, hiding in shadows, running like a villain...
in my own home town.
Feeling like the hunted.
Tearing my ear off trying to sell me god. (theirs not mine)
Shoulder checking me,
stinking up my atmosphere
getting too close, way too close.
Gotta go faster gotta get outta here.
It's getting HOT.
Feel the angry culdrin in my vains.
Backed into a corner
Oh God too late
Too late! ! Too late! ! too late! ! too late! !
Can't stop
No!
Someone make me feel better before I explode!
I shout for someone. Anyone.
A friend.
Until I realize I'm in this alone.