Drinking in his gin
you are none the wiser
proving yet again
the genius of the guiser
He holds your hand in his
at the trough of this abyss
He denotes how you despise her
the composure of the miser
The senseless shape
of his shadowed cape
clouds the cluttered thoughts
you cry to make
Begin again, void a friend
Searching hopeless for the end
He'll give you no news
nor the faintest of clues
Just the dread of those
deepening blues
The clearer it grows,
the more obfuse
The slackening of his hangman's nouse
Cold and curled
Marble fingers unfurled
around your slickening throat
A scuffled scream
straight from the dream
sounding still that sickening emote
His horrible laugh
straight from the past
or present, future still
the lowering of your will...
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