The rhythm
traipses through
The abyss
of mortality.
The breath
of winter, with
Its starry
icicles clawing at
The
heartless moon,
Inscribes
its soul on
The wings
of my wounded faith.
The twisted
vines of
Mermaid
dreams
Embellish
my marred flesh,
Obscuring
the evidence of
My
bonfire-bright abhorrence
And
mirroring the endless
Seclusion
of rock-bottomless
Sorrow and
neglect.
Visions of
cotton candy
Clouds
collide with
The
senseless recollections
Of constant
criticisms and
Promises
rendered empty.
Each
mistake and malicious intent
Perpetuates
the illusion
Of gossamer
existence.
Pungent
cologne,
Corpses of
patio pain,
The rusted
link of a
Chain and
shackle that
Should be
torn asunder.
Forced
thoughts,
Well-meaning
people
Attempting
to repair me
And bind my
wounds,
Illuminate
the concealed
Remains of
the hollow
Skeleton in
the closet
Of my
mournful spirit.
