Your meandering mind is an ostentatiously fabricated sword with a double edge
Every thought is a fevered recapitulation of Pascal’s wager engendered with an urge to hedge
Your necrotic toes curl with impetuous anxiety over the precipice of a rusted razor’s ledge
Castrated by the scissor-tongued fear of relentless failure of the promises you’ll never pledge
Dreams of the juice of holly berries trickling down your inner thigh concoct the elixir with which yin poisons yang
Astral chutes deliver legions of unseelie fey from their cells within the rotted honeycomb of your heart to beleaguered synapses which implode with nary a bang
This pathetic dirge is not a song that any choir of celestials sang
But rather a current of venom insidiously enveloping you from the roots of the ancient serpent’s fang
The diamond blade which formed the spade of Constantine’s Spear of Destiny
Was shattered within scintillating waves of succulent thunder by the fruit of abject felicity
A condition of the imperishable procession of decades swimming in your narcotic ocean of debility
Itself the result of your tremulous insistence on volitional premature ejaculation of senility