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?