Distraction

Having a monumentally bad day.  Inside, I'm screaming, "What is the point of going on?"  Keeping it inside is setting off waves of panic attacks.  And if I type about it anymore, things will get worse.

So let me type something that I found the other day.  A while ago, the magnificent Stephen Fry published a book called  The Ode Less Travelled, which helped its readers write all different types of poetry.  I found my workbook from when I read the book, and am rather fond of the following. We were called upon to finish "Fry's Ballad," which began thusly (my contributions in bold):

Now gather round and let me tell
The tale of Danny Wise:
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck out both his eyes.

And if I tell the story true
And if I tell it clear
There's not a mortal one of you 
Won't shriek in mortal fear.

For Annabelle was fair of face,
A comely shape and size.
She won young Danny with her grace,
But everything was lies.

Her demon heart was hidden well;
None dared believe it true.
Their wedded life became a Hell
Once lovesick Danny knew.

He suspected things were not quite right
With his darling little missus
When once, in telling him "Goodnight,"
She near smothered him with kisses.

His breath regained, he sought to run
He had no choice but flee
Her answer was a wicked one:
"Can't run if you can't see."

And so she snared him in her arms
And breathed into his ear,
"Fall victim to my wiles and charms
This one last time, my dear."

With less a thought than one might give
A stranger's passing face,
She put her lips where sight does live
Pulled his eyes out of their place.

And then she laughed an evil laugh
Moved off into the night
Left Danny less a man by half
And doubled her own sight.