Recalling My Muses - Part 3 Poem by Rodion Myshkin

Until Hamartia takes over
I may scheme to dream,
Ah, there's the rub,
Insanity is way slower
It's not a call or a plea, but a scream!

These distorted displays credulously endorsed once,
I dread now, realising every faith
Hinges on a few gratifying lies.
Senses be spared sans scathe,
Will they stay as my satisfying vice?

'Aoede', of voice and song
You are my last resort, LET me be strong,
Light me up again, like a firework
I'm bound to bow out with a bang,
Fling me hard, I'll come back like an doting boomerang!

Left with words, stolen from Masterpieces,
And wit borrowed from contemporary releases,
I caution my sinistral hand, lest it pens a threat,
My hope's like a faithful pet,
Eager to trudge over rocks & rubbles,
And call to arms, all my troubles.

'Tell all the truth but tell it slant'
Emily D., I heed your advice, but can't.
My antics are a frenzied diatribe
Romanticism, burned to my bone, I follow my tribe.