(Thewhimsicalbard, Too)

It's no coincidence that you won't call on me
in a pinch--
I'm no friend
of the court; I'm held suspect.
The only reason I've made progress is that
we're all held guilty of normalcy
until proven innocent.

I'm innocent of normalcy.
So are you.

The things you do to my head
prove you innocent--
beyond a shadow of a doubt,
as they say in the biz.

Oh, what do you know?
Here comes my verdict--

GUILTY!? GUILTY!?

I am guilty?

I am guilty.

What shameful machinations
could drive any man to bring this
terrible verdict down on me?
Ha.
I have my own answer.

I'm normal, for spite.

No,

not
now, when I need this spotlight--
now, I fade into the shadow of
hierarchy.

What a conundrum--now that I've received
the verdict, I am proven innocent beyond all doubt.

For so few are guilty.
Haven't you heard?
Everyone in here is innocent.

(Red was here)

Today, I would not be one of the many-who-are-few;
for most, it would be some great pride,
some point of honor, but today,
it clouds my senses and drives me to insanity.

Drunk, drunk,
drunk, drunk,
hic
liquor-drunk,
pain-drunk,
wine-drunk,
you-drunk.

Now I'm
guilty once again.

Now I'm
home on house arrest,
a victim of the legal system--
I sit all day, eating clich├ęs
straight out of the tub and taking shots of sadness
by myself.

I blame the system,
but there's never been a flawed system--
the only flaws are the women who use me.

hic