#14

When in state of pseudo-vigil

Suffering to remain just sane

I broke the mysterious sigil

From myself to lift the bane

Over me it held a sway

I was left no other option

Nothing left to do but pray

To brew this dark decoction

The aroma of mystic spices

The bitter taste of mighty blend

Could supress the worst of vices

Delay the pathetic end

The potion made of magic dark

That extract could induce a craze

It didn't even made a spark

What should I do to lift the haze?