Rot Written From Hell

I might have to wait 'til I'm dead,

awww hell, I'll have my giggles right now,

looking up to those reading assured,

thinking something's not right in my head.  

It's precisely the happening I feared,

beneath layers of woving I wrote,

every strand's exact placement was lush

in each air's assumed landscape I neared.  

No disturbance will visit my door,

questions knocking, I kindly ask in,

when the fists' beaten bully mistakes

his blind hovel, my windows, ignore.  

Let the idiots dance and agree

all that's good can be filled in a cup,

brilliance claims it knows whiskey from tea,

alone, genius wants nothing but, up.