Inside my head is
like the storming of the Bastille,
it's kind of unreal, but the noise
is immense,
cells being ransacked, thoughts being
hijacked,
if feels like I'm packing a service revolver
with the barrel aimed square at my eyes.

Wednesday's alway begin with the feeling that
I have been broken into,
in two,
and I always knew that they would.

These walls tumble down and the crown I once wore is no more,
the eyes see it all as I fall and I still fall as if I never learned anything at all.
In the Bastille and I can't even speak French, someone says, (probably me)
'not much of a wrench then to leave then, is it?'

I can't answer that one, my mind is too far gone and
Wednesday drops its bomb
as I wake.