A cloak of darkness drapes upon
This fragile mind of mine
So heavy and opaque it is
That through it no light shines
The infiltrator slithers in
With whitewash in her hand
Obliterating all desire
To do what I had planned
These words do not come easily
They seem a waste of time
What do I think they will achieve?
Just so much pantomime
I am going through the motions
A mimic's overture
It's little more than handwaving
A transparent caricature
I can't be bothered now, you know
To finish this 'ere poem
You'll have to make the last line up
...
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