Mortuary Amphetameaningless Blues by Niamh Doolan
Needles and pins digging in . . . to skin . . . filling with sudden red we lay on our backs and wondered when to clean up the dead They were there. . . the dead fish-eyed vacant stare limbs of lead Deedless grins apathy thins . . . a soul . . . staining with sudden red we lay on our backs and realised that we were just as dead.