I tally all my thoughts at bay,
disguised within my fevered mind,
and to them I regret delay
but wary I will fall behind.
For I believe these weary thoughts
have given me the time to fear,
All such madness, craven draughts
of one more hour, wasted here.
And for the barkeep I may pass
a time, a piece, of relished bliss,
because my form no longer asks
of me, to find that worthiness,
that lies behind these broken seems
and sulks between my fingertips,
eager for abducted dreams
of words I know and thoughts I miss.