It took three years to bury myself
Amidst the reckless notions of preservation
But, I wrapped up my distress, deeply within my skin
Writing the answers on my hand, and forgetting that they were there

I bathed in spite, three times-a-day
And, ran from sober thoughts:
To build a persona, an alter ego
Then, to remember what I had forgotten

I live in my imagining--
The present is much too distraught
So, I fall off of the cliff, with Epimetheus
Until my heart is plundered by a fleet of Visigoths

There are skeletons, pumping through my veins
Though, I pretend they're gone--
I hear my conscience screaming at me
So, I put the cork back in the bottle...