The wall is slowly coming down,
while tiny fruit flies ice skate on my brain.
Dancing complexions
and singing rains can't help drown all of it out.
Once I was a pauper,
now I'm a penniless king.
When will the madness subside?
Riddle me this?
Answer me that!
The mind bending,
soul fucking,
establishing after thought,
tends to tear away any dreams or aspirations I have until there's nothing left but a bag of bones and a major tooth ache they call writers envy.
Yes, once I was comfortable,
once I was my own sort of king.
Now I'm just words on paper.
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