All stories are lies
In service of truth.
My tales are harrowing,
My exit narrowing.
I channel my folly
For comedy and love.
I drink my coffee
And rot in hell.
I treat the love of my life
As poet and genius.
I am gone from grace,
Modest in transfiguration.
All skulls have brains,
All chests have hearts.
Mine were there from the start,
But lost to art.