My Nocturnal Visitor
Written by John Swartz
A Dark scorn ripples down the translucent meadow,
Rolling up and over itself again and again,
Senseless blathering buffoons watch on,
Mocking me, always do they mock my judgement,
Whilst eating crumpets or drinking cups of tea,
They exist to be more like parasites then useful opinion.
I often ponder the relationship between greatness and average,
My thoughts can shift and morph like an insane man's dream,
My dreams come in the form of Dumas an excitable chap,
He brought me Justice and Revenge, True love and destiny;
I become an automaton that scans bar-codes of chocolate,
To the rhythm of boredom that makes me so ashamed.
A shadow spreads down me with a thieving cry,
It's blacken hands uncaring and cold freezing me up,
it leaves a taste of tar and nicotine though I never smoked,
The raw after taste feels like it's discouraging me,
Lining me up that blood splatter wall to finish me in a blow,
Pooling and pooling of blood on the floor - cats used to clean me up.
Oh! How my dark passenger rides me so,
it's harsh black cane whipping at my flanks,
The desire to curl up on myself is there always,
Lingering in the backgrounds laughing diabolically,
Till that swishing slash from my rider beckons me;
I feel like cattle just splurging my dignity for others benefits.
Blacken my heart and close my eyes,
Just draw that blade and end me now,
I can hear no song about dreaming,
Take me now for I have no pressing engagement,
Come nocturnal visitor take me now.
I'm ready to die.