Untitled Poem

They’re all such good little sheep:
Do this, do that,
Yes sir and may I kiss your arse as well?

No, that’s not me,
I won’t go quietly to the slaughterhouse,
So just fuck off and leave me be.

Alone, I slam the door,
The sign says KEEP OUT,
And only then, the bolts shot home,

With music playing and
Comfy in my chair
Do I emerge from cover.

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