I am poison.

Tell the girls and boys
There's dark leeching
In the screeching
Of the overtones in his voice.
These are the choices we make,
The greatest takings of chance.

When a train of thought stops
At the length of the page
Of a number detracting
On the calendar's page,
Like the wheels of a plane
That takes me away,
A sentence stops short
Of a meaning to say
That the Fields of Elysium
are my equilibrium,
A fable,
Unstable,
Where nothing is certain,
And I hold that burden.

It has not been enough
But it all is too much
And my only crutch is my frame,
Polished out imperfections
But still flawed all the same.

So I've crossed all my T's
And dotted my I's
As I sign my name off
To the greatest of lies.
A builder of morals
Independent of sin...
See the signals?
Hear the bells?
That's the train coming in.