Should I trade my vice for yours? Should I trade my “coma” for your convenient holiday?
Confident whilst in hell, behind your public promotion of illness. Sinners pulpit.
Ear to ear and glowing under the light, not kind enough to be out of earshot.
Peg or two maybe more. Spare me I thought in my inept ways and remorseless it was.
A crafty one I mustered, crafty one I received. Bilious and female a feared challenger:

So I flee your light, not to the nearest obvious one but to my preferred, the coffin that eats me:
Like the coffin you had your daily feast. White magic brought me here, preferred illness.
I flee because I know your kind exist the broad care for nowt elephant,
who needs distraction more then I do, but go about it in a natural way the back braking religion.
The dreamt of at times old forced choice. I'm less natural then you so care not what I do serve your purpose. I breathe but at a slightly faster pace, the breath of converted pacifist, a beaten one, set straight by occasions and even imagination. I sneak out as I did in let that be all.