Moving around this flat, from chair to sill
Creaking, strained, eyes highted milklike
Undeniable disorientation
Sensing lost time, even lost mind
Feel I haven’t lost mine but most who’ve lost theirs say they’re fine
Cognitive and physical decline
Decreasing resolution in snapshots of my prime
Hair grey as an aged wolfmane
By will alone the final claim is staked
This ailing frame could tell a tale or ten
Chains draped as dissuade a slave’s perambulations
Bulked such way forbade rage or joy’s expression
Fenrir in noisome dwarfmade cage
Fighting constraint, frustrated
Energy from endless hate
A black, unseen lake inside me.
Alchemisland 
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