I back peddle from a paper pedestal, hoping for the best, hoping you don't intend to inspect the wreckage I have left.

I am temptation at its test, an exclamation on contempt, collecting the regrets to my exemptions under stress.

A misnomer to my bets, against the better judgments I neglect, I'm set in my ways, in lucid forays, I've let from my veins,

and I've slept, the whole ******* way.