The Noise

The noise, it closes in; It takes my mind away To where it shouldn’t go, And where it’s bound to stay. I wish it wasn’t so. A life of diff’rent shape — But all this noise is mine to hear And I cannot Escape

The Falling Evil

My doctor says The selfsame thing That causes me To seize Sends words to me Compulsively: My writing’s a Disease The falling evil It was called The falling sickness Too And I’d write less If I was well, But I am not. So poo.