You woke up in, middle of the night of psychedelic
He got some words to justify your autotelic.
Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife
You don’t wanna see yourself as your strife.
He threw a knife through the middle of your skull,
Timber, o mine, they got their safety and a stull
You got a bad desire, with lots of harm and blood
He sowed broken bones beside a rodent flood.
Polypeptides are several with that reversible Chalone,
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
The city of full violence with some brutal spies,
Disgusting and offences are filled up with your vice.
You are a victim, with having a dim,
If you open your eyes you must see his grim.
With the neighing of a white horse,
His neck bleeding caused by gorse
Blood is oozing on the ice
Omega, through him, will take you for a trice.
Poet: Trijit Mukherjee
Artist: Mike Davis
Painting: Surrealism
