Sick and afraid,
Dreams unattained,
Walk with a frown,
A cane and a doubt,
My thoughts looking bleak,
untamed ever weak,
they're roaming around,
and peaking at murk,
Like who would have thought I'd be fiending for perks,
Am dark and bizarre,
My thoughts fixed afar,
I rack and I spar,
with these nuts in my head,
Am corny at times,
when I wish I was dead,
with a beat and a mime,
and a taste for the red,
Like who would have thought I'd be fiending for perks
I speak of the Lord,
And believe in the cross,
But deep in the murk,
Am still wading am lost,
I judge and I curse,
Like a patron of saints,
But within me proclaim,
"Esoteric's the way!"
It's creepy and gross,
But escape it I can't,
Like who would have thought I'd be fiending for perks
©Ace
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