Cottonmouth
Death, o' mine conqueror
Purveyor of my sin
Please sit a while and chat with me
'Til I am whole again
Sorrow is but wasted thought
When left to fend alone
But blessed with proper nourishment
Becomes the perfect home
My patience grows much shorter now
Much like these winter days
Bundled up, but cold within
I am the boring blaze
I pray for my deliverance
To take me from this shame
And enter me through gates of Hell
Turning once to place my blame
I can stand that beep no more
The dripping now must end
Though my mouth can't say
My eyes convey
"Please pull the plug, my friend."
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