The artist as humiliated martyr of nothing.

Taking my voice down, transfering sores.
He's off his meddies! I hear the roars.
But let you calm down now, it's not of that sort;
A mind like mine readies for any retort,
Casts any curative back to the start.
Cyclical thinking! Happy people, so smart.
Cognative narrative - let's play a game:
It's called never blinking, it plays the same
However you cast it; my mind slips free.
Mad hatter's party, under a tree.
But we're back in the past! The poem is thee.
And I am the artist, the con and the thief.