...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
