Postcard Poem

My head is up my arse

All I think about is shit

I'm about as bright as a two watt bulb or a candle that hasn't been lit

At night I sit and ponder,

To myself I laugh and smile

I haven't had a sane thought for quite a fucking while

I need someone to talk to, to get me back on track

I've tried talking to myself but I'm not much fucking crack

In life I took the scenic route, now all's not quite the same

Those concoctions I have taken must have tattooed my brain
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I wish I could do magic, just like David Blane

All those little brain cells,

I would bring them back again

(Written on the back of a postcard and sent to an unsuspecting friend from Amsterdam)