Bedtime Story
The depths of my depravity sink
My cruel and careless mind is aligned
With eyes affixed on all I've solely lost:
I dance with my scapegoating ghosts
Yearning to turn the page:
My hands are cut off by Hammurabi--
To keep from gouging Oedipus' eyes:
I am written out of the story
Ambition does not lust after me
I am forgotten in Dante's Inferno
My hands have denied any involvement--
They cite my brain for a lack-of-character(s)
Volition is cemented in the mire of Regret
Yet, She still screams to me:
"'Out damn'd spot! Out, I say!'"
So, we bury my tell-tale heart under the floor...
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