Talking to a bed sock isn't easy

enigmatic answers framed in tartan

lying in a corner with my pipe dreams

empty bottles jeering from the carton

Mirrors never give a soft solution

preaching their indulgent criticism

fingernail on blackboard screeching questions

metaphors inside a faded prism

Empty citadels await my storming

mass my tarnished troops and ride to battle

listen to the stuttered beat of victory

lie upon the throne and hear death's rattle.