Walking The Line

Cash hands out a line about hurt 

An you know what I mean as the weeks trail on , 

Words crumble on paper as I type 

I can't find them , the lamp shade grows dim 

My mask hides a lions den 

I'm pacing waiting for the slaughter  

Only that it's dead winter , we know our fate 

I picture the dawn warm 

Every morning 

As this month closes 

Another book 

Another poem