Every night I think of sweet, sweet release
I look around and see this room turn grey
And now I’m bound by the ceiling’s long leash
Then it all goes silent as I go pray.
"Can you hear me? I’m lost. Don’t be a brute!"
"It’s cold! I’m scared! I could hear the Night Hounds
Sniffing the air around this strange fleshy fruit."
And the devil comes in and makes his rounds.
“What have I done to you? I’ve made no qualms.”
“Look here, Puppet of Flesh. Did you do this?”
“What if I did? The world does not spare alms.”
“Don’t be hasty. Be glad this swing’s a miss.”
I greet Morning with the usual deep sigh.
At least I could rewrite the things I’ve scribed.