So, what's your downfall, he asked?
And I tell him, I'm not tasked
With losing my hopes in a flask,
Or tangled sheets, or to bask
In false lights of powders foreign,
Though it would seem my creed, I know,
By much my brethren showed and show;
I am an artist, I plead guilty to the crime,
Of being here to ask you to waste your time
To try to understand my ramblings on my pain
And then to waste and waste your time again
Hoping you can see something more
Of everything that comes before
Your eyes when you're not wasting time
Upon this crazy pantomime
I place before you: I bleed, yes,
And hope to give you life in all this mess.