Willing suspension of disbelief applies to fiction not accounts of truth.  Take the power back they've stolen from you Tiger...don't give it away to fools so easily.

She sleeps
I'm outside under the eaves sheltering little from the rain
smoking late into the a.m. wide awake,
coffee for company and her scent
clinging to my skin.
There's isolated bouts of traffic  
late night revellers
returning
shadows
there to witness between
lamplight neons,
but I'm cocooned away
restless in the washes of rain
thinking of one in slumber within
the walls on which I lean

The crows are going
  to rise up
over the black asphalt
  city skyline

singing into the
  blood red sky
   hearts crowned
    with fire and hope

flying high and free
   flying over
     the mountain tops

singing of the
   promised land

singing for the dead
   but not forgotten

singing words
  of flame
    and poetry

singing for
   freedom
     and unity

Quiet, an observer, not part of the scene
Flowing in the background like a river serene
Supping the irish stout, sometimes with a dash of black
I never meant to offend, a car crash now I lose my head, not the me of old, very out of trend
The loss of control to parts now out of reach
Learning as a kid, the facts of life, now an impossible body to teach
I can't stop it, this loss of infuriate rage
It's not the man I am, now living life on a completely different stage
If God had a wand I wish he would wave it calmly, cooly, and fix my frustrated ways
For this is not me, that once quiet man,
I don't enjoy this life any more, I wish it just a faze
And for it to just stop, as sometimes I think
I am,

Losing the plot

JJB