Directed to the bottom of my well
A dry voice always relentless
Frozen sorceress atop jeweled loveseat throne
Always looking never helping
Clowns play day games of currency
Entities from corpse to demon take the night
Happy blue and white oval pills
Burning trees with street scripts works better
Splintered broomstick sword and bent trashcan-lid shield
Epic battle they say never took place
Giant horrors with hemorrhaging claws stalk me
Somethings send chills straight to the soul
One eye peak through slatted almond blind
Droplets tap the window and charcoal street like a riddle
Six-point restraint in white pure room
Left as hors d'oeuvres for the wolves
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