B P
When I go up, you go fast, The mad rush, the sleepless nights, A hundred flamingoes, screeching On a green lake, the thoughts are confused, But torrid, I make you run in a daze, Limping till you spin, you look drunk, The colours in your head, the patterns In the sky explode; hold steady, Sit still, breathe in comfort, Breathe out pain And then the crash; the silence, You're no longer impetuous by nature, Slinking away, to a corner, where no one Wants to find you, no one wants to be you, The fall of the party boy into his own vomit, The dethroning of the queen, into Naked submission under the harsh king.