Defray the disarray

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a puddle of chaos I stand,

Sinking like in a marshy swampland,

The race of life, with its murky goals,

Pains my already befuddled soul.

 

Isolated, I seem to feel in a crowd,

Breathless, like trapped in a shroud,

Some days are silkier than others,

Not that I am given any druthers.

 

A lankiness pervades in all my fears,

Downing whiskey, whilst drowning in tears

Razor sharp bite the days seem to be,

Mouthing a prayer, I try to flee.