GORSE

Writer, reciter, memory man,
A thousand cigarettes later,
But when they did the brain scan,
Turned out he was a waiter.

Don't break my horse,
It's been dying for years,
He eats all the gorse,
And holds back the tears.

I'm addicted to poetry,
sever my right arm,
Disconnected from reality,
Sectioned in the funny farm.

It's Tuesday morning the injection,
Makes you manic and insane,
"That's why your on the section"
Got to get the drugs to your brain.