Last I could remember was my sister,
Running towards me with a sharp blade and blood blister.
Vacant mornings and bed of plain routine,
2 years past since the loss of queen.
Neck eternally stamped with a razor knot,
Thoughts nevermore within vengeance plot.
But sobered up, I’ve seen it all before,
No sister nor blister, a schizophrenic lore.

Through partings of dismay
I lead myself to stable
A feeding of my prey
Big-eyed and unable

I trudge a swallow track
To a barren fixture
My mind itself attacks
Its own beleaguered mixture

Night I spend in transit
On familiar paths of woe
And memory demands it
That I shall never grow

Repeatedly I’m tarnished
To a blank and endless room
And my skin is taught and varnished
By the silent aching moon

He said grown men don't weep
but I did last week
last night as I lay on my bed in a heap
bar height - i've lived a life on the sweet
(bar -marmite a little bitter on the teeth
(bar -barfights i guess I thrive on the street
baabaa type if I'm a meat I'm a sheep
ha ha at light but only weep in my sleep
far far right from when I started this speech
au revoir mon amie this be the end of my suite

We dance in it's pleasures.
We count it's treasures.

We hide from it's terror.
We wait for it's surrender.

Oh, how I love adventures.