That spiteful thread

As I lay on the hammock

Coughing up line upon

Spiteful line of

Utterly forgettable, I

Felt the threads of

The hammock

Pop.

I thought it was a mouse

That was wandering stuck

Behind me, a persistent

Nagging plip, but

No, the hammock

Was dying.

And so it is, when spite

Would be told it rings

Out to collapse that on

Which it lays,

Unwanted, unwarranted,

A slowly defraying

Thread of the world

That will

In the end

Drop you on your arse,