When the dead become insane
The tramps the down, the ill arranged
The junkies burning over flames
The fools who couldn’t be renamed
Where do they go to shoot the light
Eat the bread
Kill the night
The times are changing
Tells you on every wall
Don’t expect to be caught
When you jump, get pushed, or fall
The ticket’s gone, my friend
Like the train that didn’t depart
Start queuing up for the next life
Can the hospital have your heart
You’ll have to be quick, my friend
The man on the bridge has got a head start.
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2026 06:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
A poetic dystopia at night and heat of hell during the day. Pray for darkness in this world for none can bear the light. A good read full of metaphor.
Definitely a Monday morning poem, I missed a trick. lol
Paul, there’s something painfully real in the way you move from the marginalized to the existential. It reads like watching systems fail in slow motion. “The man on the bridge has got a head start.” doesn’t romanticize it…it just states it...and that is powerful. Well done here. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
We're all at the cliff edge now.
I need some jolly old tea and scones.....
You've vandalised my mind...
This was my respond to the guy who was holding the placard. ''THE END IS NIGH'' lol
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