Drifting…the jungle thick, the walls high,

Aggressively axiomatic, mind operating like a game show,

Thanked for playing, and harboring an explosive personality,

Affectation in a state of decline, eardrums conveying a restrained paean

Engulfed by the past, sanctioned from an honest place to speak,

Like talking about the invisible, of ghost blood,

Only those principles of chaos distinguish unmistakable vitality

Left marooned in a wheelhouse, in approximation to a hamlet from hell,

No further acolytes to admire or any stratagem to perform

The bucket brigade continues to rain down, interfering with proper channels,

Another ghost unable to escape, or transpose a more relaxed reality