Words, words, words.
They have begun to dominate my life.

They are married to my thoughts
In such a way that one is to work,
Or more luckily, his wife.

Sometimes I can not bear them,
Whether spoken or especially read.

For when I try to replicate them,
They fall so desperately dead.

Words, words, words.
They have begun to form a mutiny.

They promise to deliver
Me a voice to portray the divine,

Instead they thieve my privacy,
Until I am not sure what is mine.

So from now on words are my weapon,
Whilst I am trapped in another time.
I will impale heads upon similes,
And I will cut you with a rhyme.