Pathological Interment

...and

if I lied

and said

I felt fine

would you see

the convenience

of a disguised truth

leaking out the corner of my eyes

marveling...

...as it meanders

...as it evolves

...as it erodes a gorge into the emptiness of me.

Pity…

…that sorrow bathes

in the comfort

of barren days

and a tattered past

and a bullet riddled present

and a cellophane future

and a juxtaposed prose that is easily disposed

in the shadow of unsubstantial twilight

as

love

splendor

sex

&

death

perform

in a unheralded

quartet

which echoes thru the halls

of a Sistine dimension 

tucked neatly

under the arm

of ignorance

pieces of flesh

and compassion

dangling

greedily

plucked upon

by scavengers born

of one-night stands

and tryst unplanned

who with starving thirst

partake of a poison

concocted with solitude

and dust from renaissance's marrow.

The taste of it soothes like a genocide and vodka chaser...

...served from a chilled glass forged in a kiln of pain.

© 2010 dasuntoucha