Swaddle me, Suffer

Swallow me, Sorrow That I may choke on the rotten soil in vivisepulture; fodder for the screwworms, fare for the dermestids, swell the bellies of scavengers with the fattened tormentors, yet spare me the escape of peaceful death Punish me, Misery Bruise and abuse me in my isolated tenebrosity; give no quarter, spare no skin

Strident brio

He bared his heart with timidity, and with brio was cast aside He feared for marked insanity, with the many times he’d tried The booming beat within his breast, hushed lunacy’s strident calls Until he stilled his throbbing heart, when then those voices died art: Anomalie 7 by Eric Lacombe

Symphony

Still I feel a symphony of agony, though the blind see it not; consumed by self-serving inter- pretations and cheshire duality, a moment not taken to vivisect nascent dubeity for the benefit; ensconsed in backstabbing morality, mercurial quicksand, planting seeds in a wasteland, only to witness the struggle; honesty would bear fruit consentiently, yet the

Lavender

Lavender tales in an Elysian meadow, a collection of amaranthine processions; A yawning field of violaceous yarn, regaling grand stories redolent of mythical horizons and sweet tranquility art: by Werner Van Steen

The box

Dust in a box, uninteresting save its progenitor; in truth, a mere pacifier for those grieved souls Redwood blonde, lined by age, once a titan of might, now molded into an honorable death, at Its behest Lifeless plaques, shiny tchotchkes of distraction, adornments scarred by dates past and words empty; Human constructs, ill-befitting records and

Spaces

He paces throughout this prison, barred by the abandoned spaces, only remnants of remembrances, naught remaining in periphery breathing subject to parsimony, being always reticent to continue, heaviness of heart to aching joints, he can’t embrace the empty spaces rather he zealously oppugns reality, avoids the missing yet not unseen, at the mercy of the

Forsaken

Plight unseen within his sombrous haunt, he whispers wolf as not to draw its attention, for it is real in its agency and monstrosity Turned aside, his whispered cries, as part and parcel of an Alicine adventure on his dark side, despite the blantancy of a soul barest lain A horse carriage canters within his

Cacophony

His sub rosa screams are cacophonous Reverberating echoes, his remaining amity Confined within his dermal sarcophagus Alive and buried, his demons lurk relentlessly art: finis coronat opus by Peterio

Void a void

The stalwart walking chalk outline, a bone-white sillage swirling behind, in a dramatic paisley murmur of aloof pursuit; his barely throbbing corsage sheds its wet petals for a burgandy- pasted path of disenchantment; my steps slow in the crimson sludge, as I desperately grasp at the beckoning cloud; chasing Plutonic perfection, what I was meant

I wouldn’t

I could try to unsee the seen I could try to unhear the heard I could try to unfeel the felt I could try to untaste the salt I could try to unlove the loved And I would disrespect the time art: A Troubled Soul by Ferdinand Hodler

Needlestack

Overwhelmed in a subsumption of rapier steel, a slender stalk of hay in the needlestack, every eye encircling him in judgement; each piercing their displeasure in a mental bloodlet, no hand would brave the chromium cage that traps his bridled rage, lest they too be lashed; no way to thread an escape, he sets to

Out of love

I made him suffer, out of love; I took his life, out of love; I will die, completely out of love art: At Eternity’s Gate by Vincent Van Gogh *08.13.18.18.52

Homage

Paying homage through pain and suffering, any distraction an afront to his memory, any relief a disgrace to his tenderness; my love will abide until the falling pall of darkness flutters to rest upon my eyes, and the final tear to streak my cheek has dried; an hourglass of ashes, counting down the sentence; a

Perfect storm

Enveloped by nubilous darkness Transfixing the lightning seams Entreating, bolts for forgiveness And a coalescence of solidarity Deafening, the raucous thunder Rendered silent by a lesser man Listening to every transgression Synchrony without and within Consumed by torrential offerings Pouring heart and passion forth Inundated by tearful effluxion Drowning in sympathetic remorse Touched by the

Turmoil

Bloody knuckles and broken heart, barbaric breathing in tender breaths, uneasy lies the head that wears the frown, weighted memories, life bereft; wall of innocence, dotted hue, departed love, the vacuum filled; fester, blister, boiling blood, dawns the night in unexpected bruises; now with eyes, the wall stands judgement, mock the man in swelling weakness;

Serenely sleep

sweet smother, serenely sleep the shadows sense wherein to creep a raptor whispers secrets keep slip away in silence masked madness, molly please free of freedom, binding frieze foolish hope on mindless seize alacritous alliance when upon an umbrous sleuth awakened awe uncovered truth overwhelmed with unctuous ruth rebarbative reliance tripped and taut, cataract gleam