It feels like I’ve been let into a world I’m not supposed to be in. Or am I? How would I know really, do I believe I know who I am? As if I don’t lift my head up high for those below Me and walk with my tail between my legs for the overlords! 
Furious! Outrageous and grand those ideas pour over my frontal lobe wetting it. Now it is sodden, dripping in the pure filth that is vision and life.   
Disgraceful. My eyes lick your neck. Ah the stench, liquor, salt and guilt. What a mess! Haphazard and cold. What a mess! A globe of lacklustre souls