Collapsed in thrash
A post dusk dance
Where fickle whispers
Dare not doth ask
Digress, thumbing some
Of their finest cask
I'll ask myself
Dare not whispers doth ask

"What the **** are you doing?"

Laid with three
Just this week
Father's Cancer
Shan't I speak
Best friend's a child
So dull, so Bleek

Why do I seek to swerve
Where others swerve to seek

"Your life's a proper mess."

A diligent instrument
Succumbed to drink and spit
His nightly dance,
Thumb in cask
No longer feels so intimate
An idiot reflecting idiots

"I thought attractive people,..."

You finally made it
You Wretch