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...