Withdrawing to my jilted world,
I sit upon a private spindle,
Looming over silken whorls,
And licks of flame from fire kindle.
At the wheel of my creation,
Concealed from human intervention;
I escape their every expectation,
In this pool of my invention.
The epitome of a selfish need,
Shunning every sect of society;
I pick my brain until I bleed,
Overrun by my anxiety.
Like a nightmare with no end,
My twisted mind begins to spin;
As exit lights begin to dim,
Looks like it's time to sink or swim.
I steer this ship right off the shelf,
Without a single witnessó
Cowardice convinced himself
That it was no one else's business.