In the ***** light of the ***** pipe where the shadows crash into my head,I wander through cracks in the doors of a dream where the lamps lit the way to  a morphine fueled scene.
In the search for perfection I lost my sense of direction and ended up where I began and when the ***** ran through the crack so did I,getting back was the hard part,much harder than starting at the start once again.

The game is one sided,the odds are all weighted and the weight on my back was the way to the crack in the door,I don't play any more.
no pun intended but my dreams are not dramas in courtrooms defended by men in glass wigs performing gigs for the guilty,the tilted and wilted and worn out of humanity,I see the cause and effect of those less than perfect and yet we elect even worse,The revenge of the poppy, the curse,it gets sloppy from now,
So I
shall go back to dine which is better than smoking and wine and my dreams if they come
shall come unbidden and not from the *** or the running of *****.
The cracks in the door are all sealed
The body is sound and the mind begins healing
feeling okay.