The Piscean Lament

There are two voices in my head,

One speaks white, the other red.

White says, “drink this glass of water,”

Red says, “whiskey would be hotter.”

They chat away, all day and night,

Let’s do wrong, or let’s do right.

Shall we think with a clear head,

Or lay morosely in our bed?

Sometimes white will win the race,

My head, not spinning, stays in place.

My feet stand firmly on the ground,

My thoughts are pure, my head is sound.

Or the other gets in front,

My body then must bare the brunt

Of all she wishes to inflict,

A lazy body and dulled wit.

Too bad, I think, you can’t agree,

Your indecision muddles me,

For as I’m walking down a path,

You whip me round, and have your laugh.

Always in or always out,

Sometimes it makes me want to shout,

“Just pick a side, you stupid pair!”

They smile at me; they just don’t care.

Why, oh why, can’t you decide

To leave me with my strength and pride?

Why must you make me always spin,

The victim of your every whim?

But I’ll keep trying, always sure

That this time I have found the cure

For all your japes and wicked ways,

That are the trial of my days.

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