The Under Checked Vices

i wash away the harmony caught up in your grip thirsty for a century Freud told me id slip house of empty bottles mirrors obsolete peers often meet while Jekyll starts to sleep cant bare to train my iris a different strain of virus a closer threat than isis the under checked vices hear me im coming from a low point tried to smoke an old joint woke up saying oh boy barefoot like tolstoy recounting the many facets opened up the faucet morning time hospice my body just an object time lost thrown away demon as a stowaway nothing left for me to say do i want a motorcade bucked but i get back on which way am i riding sunsets only an hour somewhere it has its rising