GOT TO LIVE

By halfway through the second week Things are looking pretty bleak. No more milk, no more bread, No more pills to numb my head. No arse-paper if I need, And too bad if I start to bleed. "At least you're writing!" people say, (It's true there's less cerebral pain) But there is nothing more absurd When you're hungry, than a word.

You have to wonder if it's smart To place this stranglehold on art. I'd heal all souls for bread alone, I'd soothe whoever's on their own. Instead a bunch of corporate thugs Keeps them hurt to sell them drugs, Then ruins them if they take the chance And choose a drug that comes from plants.

I'm scared the journey'll make me mean, Worth nothing in the grander scheme. "Everybody's got to live!" I'll die inside and cease to give.