Daggar In Plate

He's slowly lipping into the slime
Can't inject into his veins
blood and guffooze out and stain
cares not that he really bleeds
death not hell is what he needs
sees the place, checks the time
some other place, some other time
you never know
Slipping up and down his writing side
his eyes begin to ponder pride
subjective pics of misled youth
before him lies the dreadful truth
undignifiled, insignified
his wrist on the razor slides
You never know.