I think you deserve the world, and all of its ruin
Because you know it so well, and even better.

The tongue babbles
Too much in its cheeks
And I hate the grind
Of morning breath
And clenched teeth
Always reaping a benefit
From the previous self.

But you’re a wealth of information
And you do lead me astray, with words
Echoing and saying “come play.”

How are you today, skull of thought?
Is I or you trying to make us stop,
And consider the alternative
Or some depiction of the devil
That we use to validate us clean?

Don’t you have chatter, to make me cry.
"That's not you, only I," but you say that,
I say that too much. And you don't exist.