Resting in bed, I smiled to the night.
Awaiting at the gates of mine amusement park
Old skin hung from chairs, and over me
A shroud lay as a lead cloth for protection.

Those deadly rays, hence, could not enter.
And since the waves of glory penetrated no mail
The murk that lurks from within my heart,
Flowing in then out, lept forth with a precognition.

I was as death is white from the least.
And I’m sure the clangor of mine jewels
    shook the structure.
It took me quite awhile to tolerate,
But the black tentacles wove a comfortable seat.

And soon the ill began to broil up.
To the end, sap of my canals was coal in a mine.
All of that time, under safe guard,
The foreman dwelled in mine own abode, but oh, so droll.

I itinerized my green region.
Fields oxydized; pates decamped on
    whirlpools of thick wine.
Spiritous was I; vice was mine kin.
Min maw contorted into a horn of the Valkry.

In a great turning, the armor failed.
A shaft flew deep, gold filled mine
    jeweled cup of great glory.
The oppression was exalted. Now
I flung the blanket aside, roared with final relief.

And mine gray matter was astir with thought.
Though I lock away myself, and cause no mortal ill,
A fester resides in mine mind/heart.
It will never vacate, and I can hide it no more.

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