I’m staring down eternity in a hearse, waiting for the traffic of demons to disperse
I’m lounging on the constellation of a large spoon
Curled up, catching some Z’s by the Moon
They sling “psychopath” as an insult
Bitter chuckles are the result
I’m a countenance of compunction
Feeling my bruised soul twang with pain at every immoral junction
I’m stuck in a reality that calls me the menace
Like Rikki Tikki in cobra infested jungles
I play the Gothic tune of death in my mind
I sever the glue of innocence and ties that bind
They chant my name with nursed hate
They throw blows in a ferocious spate
All I need to escape is an utterance of confession
It’s the sole solution to dig out of such deep a depression
Yet, I contort out of the grip of these vicious cohorts
For a question pierces my psyche like bullets in the brain
Why should I denounce myself as a monster to condemn
**When they fail to see the ones growing inside of them?