Although intoxicated within my ethereal madness,
bound within the chains of soulless treason.
I’m desperately in love with this Gothic sadness
whilst staring into the mists of disheartened reason.
Walking and stalking through the dark rancid streets;
stopping for shots as the pain’s finally receding.
Through smoke and crowds, so reverent and discreet.
A bottle to the abyss, heartless and bleeding.
See their frightened eyes view my crumpled prize;
there in the lane of the White Chapel fame.
A gutter splashed with blood and wasted faceless lives;
Feeling not of blame, nor absolved pious shame.
Muffled be the moans through incised dreams;
inhaling a mind leaving at times; exhaling into hell.
Humming in rhyme, of hope and whispered screams.
Clock talks bye, and so should I, pack and leave as well.
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