The reverie of this revelry sings

patiently in this well worn skull

of battle hymns and midnight spells

sung loud to a tune and spoken hard

the pounding footfall on my

charred and blasted brain

taste ever so sweetly of

faux margarine thats only a bit

cheaper than the good stuff

but still good enough for the

likes of me who spreads his

festival of cancerous talking points

falsehoods are not enough to

be disjointed in this way when

bedtime never comes and

under the weather I’ll be

still waiting for the bell to ring

and send me home to where

I’ll take my leave of misery

in my childhood room and sleep

muttering in my eccentricity

of days when innocence needed

no be such a foreign thing

not be such a stolen part of me…

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One thought on “I CAN’T BELIEVE ITS NOT ME

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