The only part I could ever play
Was poetic disarray
But without the poetry
Kneeling on the floor
In a pale neon light
Looking for the piece of me
I lost along the way
It can't be far: I hardly venture from this place
In the basement of existence
Dwelling with those thoughts
Armed with time and patience
The ones with one-way tickets
To darker days
The ones whose reality frays
Yet stays more real in many ways
Than the one that the writers
Of our collective story portray