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Handicapped Soul
In the mind of mortals dread of dying, to stiffle back the sounds of cring,
accuse the words most bent of lying, lifes waltz becomes denied.
Bestow to me my final wish, feed arsinic from a tarnished dish,
poured upon some staley fish, I like my poison fried.
So clever doth my heart keep beating, the cursed throb so fond of cheating,
to cease the breath of life so fleeting, the crust has barely dried.
Mocked by dogs with barking laughter, impale my fears upon the rafter,
I am now content both here and after, into the dark I stride.
The worms and I are now such friends, I have time enough to make ammends,
my brittle neck no longer bends, amused to know I have died.
