Hanging in the Mall
Stubbing out my last joint onto the moulding biscuit lying in my
saucer-ashtray, I wipe my mouth on my quilt before deciding that opening
a tin of Newcastle Brown would be better than washing away the taste
with phlegm. I finish the tin before slipping out of bed and into my
shoes to go hanging in the mall.
Taking a guitar string, I wind the wire into the ball end before
threading it into some rope. Tying it to the railing on the top floor,
I thread the wire noose around my neck. Climbing over the railing, my
body makes a twenty-foot plummet. As the wire bites in to my neck the
screams from afternoon shoppers bring me to a last climax as I fade
from life. It's fun to hang in the mall.