Method Disturbed

At three A.M.
When you come out your nest
I fall deep down in pain;
You, sweet madness
Sweet secrecy
On this blatant planet,
Oh my bitter freedom,
When did it all happen?
You, stuck all over my brain
My bed
My desk
My burnt papers
My poems in red;

When did it all happen:
My self-deception:
To trick myself
into washing you away
With all the shame
And people’s horrific criticism,
Oh I only socialize in hell;

And would you dare
My conservative misery
To play more of this game?
For your sly soul
Your fervent jeans
Your tan hands
Playing piano
Playing my body
And painting my soul
Are disturbing my method.