Unbound Captivity

The goblet of wine stood so close to me,

emaciated by the entrenched lonesomeness,

It fed the dead and the hungry,

and beseeched me to gulp it down my throat,

that suffered from a soot-like dryness.

The mansion appeared twice as large

through my double-crossed vision,

as I sat across digesting
self-loathsomeness with the wine.

Equanimity ceased to exist.

A cruel chill surrounded the spread,

but was it chill to me?

A melancholic tune played in vicinity,

but was it melancholic to me?

The wine began its play on me, did it really?

With sardonic smiles and clueless compatibility,

I took leave from my now emaciated chair

And turning to the mirror, said to the image, 

“Have I ever to get out of the harrowing chambers

Of the dead and the hungry?”

The image, distorted and frantic,

screeched through the mirror, seeming to digress,

rummaged around and found the weapon

brought the dagger to its neck,

and served its head on a silver plate.