And there you have it,
I hate the display
Not of people or shoguns
Nor shotguns, But of the simple things
Which wont display

The things that cannot relay
Anything I want to display

Because these are what causes
The most morbid delays
Of I don’t actually
Know what, what else, I’m trying to say

The things which I lose, lost
Sing me a line which rhymes with betray

At least the madness will hold me
Closely, enough to portray
A unwillingness for tea, or me
And whatever may bring the next day

We say it all best, this so it goes
On death beds rife with loved ones
But I now wonder,
Where are they? Somewhere else

You made me laugh at myself
Very recently,  I deserved it
I painfully suppose

And there’s nothing worse than the
Wound of realisation