As tapeworms gnaw inside a starving gut,
The monkeys on my back oft strangle me;
My furies scream and chatter vulgar smut—
This chorus wails in counter-harmony
Oh, every morning they do greet me thus
And paralyse and cauterise my will;
I cannot rise for they are ponderous
And so, my stagnant soul with dross does fill.
But I must ask why I do harbour them,
These fiends of horror—every day my grief.
Have I this habit chosen, self ad hominem?
I feed this mob of carping ghosts unleashed.
Why I serve a banquet to these ghouls—
Surrounding me in hoops of steel they wrap.
Truth be known, I do not play the fool
To fight against them as they me entrap;
I am compelled to battle with them when
They come at me to press me to the wall
With accusations, curses to offend
My fragile sensibilities and all.
But every time they bark at me I win:
I put them in their place, I slice with words,
I cannot lose, I vanquish them with grins—
I must come out on top. My pride’s assured.
Is that the truth? I play the victor’s game.
I write the script, I play with tour de force.
The audience is me. And the staging same.
The curtain falls, and I’m revived, of course.
I then get out of bed to start the day
I had my vic’try, bludgeoning my fiends,
And rise unscathed for I have had my say;
They lie destroyed and smashed to smithereens.
I curse them as I make my eggs and ham;
The sizzle on the grill that has me rapt.
I add a little tasty slice of spam,
And shiver once or twice against a draught.
I’ve shut my goblins up each in a cage
And focus on my duties for the day
Forgetting mental dramas on that stage—
Those dramatis personae far away.
The workday passes as it really should,
The day’s a repetition all the same,
But would I change the program if I could?
I’m doing well; I’ve mastered my own game—
I have respect and honours from my friends;
My holdings are quite healthy in the bank,
(Security is fast I cannot bend)
But love for rules and order I do thank.
I love my life, for isn’t it quite nice?
I have pension plans and holidays supreme;
I’ve always won whene’er I rolled the dice,
My life’s so fine it qualifies as dream.
No messy romance, not for me, my friend,
No bratty kids to strain my bank reserves;
I’m independent now until the end,
A prepaid funeral lavish I’ll deserve.
A book once told me that my ghouls I need
I felt it was such nonsense, silly guff!
From need for them I cannot e’er be freed.
Would they disappear if e’er I said ‘enough’?
This story is a common one I know—
The morning hero rides a braver plain
Cervantes saw it many years ago
The mind must travel ere it go insane.
La Mancha is my bedroom in the dawn
My challengers, my fearsome torments be;
They give me strength because I chase them gone
Then for the day become that happy me.
The day is done its time to lay me down
In cozy sheets my bed then takes me in
I drift away in quiet comfort sound
In slumber deep. O’er chaos do I win.
I’m wracked with new adventures before dawn
Where I’m at mercy to those shapes that come;
All my daytime swagger, it is gone.
In dreams I’m tangled in delirium.
My clock it screams that I must rise and shine
In twisted sheets in prison I do lie
Holding steadfast for a shred of time
Before resurgent tests do at me fly
Here I am again with day anew;
I know what’s coming as it always does—
Those daemons so familiar and so true
Make howling maelstrom as it ever was.
As tapeworms gnaw inside a starving gut,
The monkeys on my back oft strangle me;
My furies scream and chatter vulgar smut—
This chorus wails in counter-harmony