I'm on my way, today.
Boxed up and retreated to my dismay.
I don't like this room.

Stench of smoke, stale booze perfume.
Cut at the knees, again.
Packed in, defeated and shedding skin.

I am exposed and been stored and secreted to my chagrin.

There's nothing in this room.

No myths left here to exhume.
What you deserve when you $$#ume you're safe up on the
Tightrope.

I'm on my way, today.