I have indecent thoughts,
That can be brought to court of justice by the peers
Long gone to shadows of  lasting dreams.
This leaves me no tears
To pour. The sorrow in smears
Reflects my honest expectations
On better choice between elations
And going down to the pot of boiling
Iron, caught in doubts
Of lasting and so useless routs
With none of those I want to deal
Unless I’m trying to reveal
Disgustful feeling of defeat
In crazy and remorseful fit,
Protected by transparent clothes
From any influence of course
Except my running nose.