Lost in the haze of self-loathing, alcoholic sinister\u00a0
delirium\u00a0
And counting the\u00a0criss-cross\u00a0webs of long dead spiders\u00a0
Decaying in the dormant corners\u00a0
Of my solitary confinement.\u00a0
And this bed is crowded with ghosts.\u00a0
The voices an aural din fish hooking me back and forth\u00a0
across\u00a0\u00a0
These small sparse rooms.\u00a0
The ghosts call me back to this cold and unforgiving bed\u00a0
To stare at shadows mocking and teasing on the ceiling\u00a0
Until they become fixed to the backs of my eyelids.\u00a0
I rage. I wither.\u00a0
I duck. I feint.\u00a0
I huff and puff in my corner,\u00a0
Knowing the bell will ring any moment.\u00a0
I rise as the stool is removed,\u00a0
Holding onto the ropes around the ring\u00a0
And trying to see my adversaries through swollen shut\u00a0
eyes.\u00a0
Time to get slaughtered again,\u00a0
Just have to stay on my feet\u00a0
Until the ghosts are gone.\u00a0
\u202f\u00a0
I think of you.\u00a0
I think of you, my Angel,\u00a0
My One Great Love,\u00a0
I think of you.\u00a0
I remember our nights,\u00a0\u00a0
The scent and the touch\u00a0
And the nearly disembodied voices\u00a0
Stroking one another in the very same bed\u00a0
That torments me now.\u00a0
We\u2019ll be together again in seven days,\u00a0
Or eight, and your body will belong with mine again.\u00a0
I slowly emerge from my grave\u00a0
Of anger, of darkness, of sick obsession,\u00a0
Of complete desolation.\u00a0
Picking the locks of these demented chains\u00a0
One at a time\u00a0
Until the room is in soft focus once again\u00a0
And the ghosts are gone\u00a0
And I am free to live\u00a0
Once more.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"