How Dogs Die

Poor little boy deceived in small ways
On his way home the lashes were laid
Now he will watch and he will wait for
My good face to heal over
There are so many signs that I miss
I don't pretend that I can exist
Scribbler the scribe is overlapped with
Copyist the clerk, so lost in service

And wrapped like the milk-boy's grey coat
My reflection is trapped in his eyes
Is this how dogs die?
How dogs die

I talk about my health again when
I cannot find a way to explain
If there are words that fit me and you
Send me away, it's long overdue
I dream of biting scabs from my tongue
Waking I find there really are none
What does it represent in this case?
How to distinguish purpose from waste!

I can't seem to cut myself clear
I can't seem to find any worth
Is this how dogs die?
How dogs die