Jelly

You put the jelly on the bread,

you form a moment of zen

and then you stick it in your head.

Did you remember to make your bed?

Do you remember now and then?

Did you smear the jelly on the bread?

You seek your thirst for being dead.

You check your watch for half past ten,

and then you stick that in your head.

Running rope through pillars of white and red,

you regret that time when

you wiped the jelly on the bread. 

It is now the night the day has led,

you recite your ritual cleanse,

and stick it in your head.

Turn out the lights, you’ve already read.

There is no more time left to spend.

You stuck it in your head

before you ate the jelly on the bread.