the vacant hand fumbles along
attempts to occupy itself in mindless pursuit
breaking its toys and scattering others to distance
it worries the other hand with hard and sweaty massage
to no avail
the other hand retreats to its own worries
the vacant hand aches
eyes wandering too
they roam the room
wall floor ceiling
as if to find something new upon which to feast
as if to see is to be sated
the eyes heavy with desired sleep
but denied by this body
of restless pieces parts
the *****
think hard over every woman ever known
no matter how slight
its thirsty thought gasps like a man in the desert
for even a taste of sweet water
please just a drop or two
just a taste
the mind gripping its fever pitch self mutilations
stumbles along its random path
its thoughts glued to the passing images in half perceived memory
like a drooling imbecile
half laughing and half taunting the
silly's who occupy the insanity creeping into his soul
the path the mind treads
is well worn
been here before
round and round we go
like a punchdrunk prizefighter lurching
through the dim light
there is no finding way out
round and round we go