A light-hearted sonnet about Marylin Manson and his strange world...

Enrobed in velvet, hiding from the light
With hair coiled like the tendrils of a squid,
Supine he lounges, dark consort of night,
With absinth-driven dragons of the id.
He swirls the pale green liquid in its glass,
A whirlpool forms before his mis-matched eyes;
And beasts of untold fathoms swim to pass
Like vast, slow-gliding swarms of demon flies.
Deep shadows writhe beyond his surly gaze
Within each dusty corner of the room,
And in his head a tarantella plays
While all elsewhere is silent as the tomb.
He yawns. A door swings open, suddenly -
His girlfriend asks what he would like for tea.