D.O.T.S (Drowning On The Surface Pt. 2)

Inhale St. Elmoe's fire and it

Tickles me,

Ignorant to hope maturity would branch

From such a fickle tree.

No longer pleased with the human that

I passed for,

So here goes the menace that you

Asked for.

The purpose of previous visitations was to

Check on my progression,

Your checklist reckons I'm reckless ensuing

Every session.

Secretly confined to solitaire after suspicions

Ratted,

Padded cell with a slight chance of windows

Ever being added.

Mindful of the gameplay, though you exclude me

From the huddle,

A frenzy coated by amnesia due to the departure from

My shuttle.

A peaceful warrior adorned by war

Paint,

My inherence procreates a confab over my

Infectious taint.

With nothing left technically I should be

All right,

Awareness of your succor and the circumstance

Of it being all spite.

Naive to spot who spiked the sucker

Punch,

Reclaiming a train of thought conveyed through

A conductor's hunch.

Resist the arrest of my development while you

Fight me off,

Restoration initiated when you pencil me in

Erasing how you write me off.

The hunter assimilates the rapture of the

Captured,

No given thought to the ego that it

Fractured.

Incoming curiosity tempting to lead this cat

Outdoors,

Fathom an eradicated vessel up stream

Without oars.

The swelling verity subsided avoiding any

Mental grasp,

Falsehood shattered posthaste emphasizing a less

Gentle clasp.

Reserve seats to the theatre of my mind

Preferably in the way back,

Would it be preposterous if the needle became

Accustomed to the haystack?