It’s been two weeks, two dead, too far away:
Just too weak today to care anyway.
Pray soon you’ll be here and here you will stay.
I hear tormentor who hunts me like prey.
Tales spin inside, haunt me by night and day;
Pitchforked talons and tail that would fillet.
Voices whisper; weary head longs to lay;
Wrong and right, black and white, now only gray.
Free me from incessant voices that bray
Beseech myself mumbles I can allay