A wayward hand,

lost in time,

stroke the post,

for the devil is mine,

sing the song,

we want to sing,

and in the end,

the end will be,

sunken in,

the stench is me,

broken levels asunder,

split within the roots of trees,

woven injuries carved with intent,

not strange in a strange land,

yet a place familiar instead,

a room of white,

walls drenched in red,

a sea of memories,

lies inside my head…