...cuz there's not much left 'cept a body, and pretty face.
Vogue begs to know what "entertains" me. They'll
Be certain I indulge in that cuz thence
By sheer default, who does not, eh? My sense
Of that is either quite perverse sans bail,
Or mebbe true: naught but distracts me, pale
As sich assertions that's my case from hence.
I'll laugh for this or that, watch for intents
Both movies, and the id'ot box t'avail.
Yet all's for mere DISTRACTION. Joy is poor,
Quite frankly. I am broken, smile as due,
And swear it's all a game of sheer, as twere:
Pretending. Christians say that is not true.
So what am I? My heart died whenas her
Heart did, and I'm a shadow, fading through.
Oh dear! I think I put down recently that I'm not depressed.