Black ochre flows through blue viens
Many pleasures, many pains
Lies, all that gushes from thy lips
Gold turns to tin with brush of fingertips
Wand of crystal shatters the bone
Body quests for spirit alone
Eyes mist over, blinded by clouds
Thunder rages, lightning screams aloud
A brain that's weak with too much thought
Snow-dove near a trap waiting to be caught
Heart of sand scattered to the sea
Wolf in the womb struggling to get free
Formless world where love is illusion
Adding to my chaos and confusion
Feeling not any better, only one meter worse
I need no Harvard-bred shrink:
My therapy is my verse
