Bastian Hollow Poem by Derek Wade

Turn, turn the wheels of horror
You'll hang for what you've done
I've failed to recognize my hand as part of the problem.

I'll watch you fall from this balcony
Like a chandelier from the sixth story.
The concrete will stain from the blood which you paint.
A poet you've lived, now an artist you'll die.

It's not time to go
it's something in your eyes
You can't take it slow
it's something in the wine
You taste like something's wrong.
'Darling, tell me, is something wrong? '