A Poisoned Flask (REVISED)

It is not the fact of the matter that troubles me most but
its delivery – Brutus style, an unexpected knife in the
back, no hints prepared me for the dark deed, just
discovery of treason; my heart bleeds, yes, I’m no great
warrior, in class I’m the dumb, stupid one who tries to do
the right thing but earns nothing for misplaced endeavours.
Like the Beatles sang ‘Now I need a place to hide away’ I
am disappointed, feeling sad, falling silent since we are
living in the 1984 of George Orwell

Should have known nothing I do is kosher, I don’t fit the
System, should be made to drink a poisoned flask like
Socrates, be hung upside down like Paul – or was it
Peter? See what I mean, can’t get basic facts right; so
plunge the knife into my back again, the first wasn’t
painful enough, teach me lose my feelings, be empty
all the time, do it in the dark so I develop a shell in which
to hide, continue the treatment, I’m afraid I’ll get up and
walk away, kill me completely – let me die in peace,
tell me why I didn’t die from a broken heart…