Vexing winter, culpable,
equally
In each her ghastly
appellations,
Pronounceable or not—
To annunciate, if but
for a solitary syllabic
Representation,
regardless of key, you are to
Feel, what flames
writhe through her internally—
Slack-jawed, amazed,
yet mainly from fear, each
Observation allowed,
becomes a memory ruefully
Spent, in depreciative
dissolve and disillusionment—
To witness is to feel,
the snarling hooks paring clean
The canvas from its
frame…watching as the paint, is apportioned randomly—stylistically similar, yet
confusion, also has made and continuously makes such claims consistently…
In a manner of
speaking, a cloud exhausts the oxygen, as the last breaths befriend an
approaching maiden sent from afar, where her beauty alters, in waves, toggling between,
asymmetric recollections, abused by a deepening lust, ignorant of just how
representative grow the scars…
Hallucinatory
amplification contorts the demonic vice grip that strangulation bestows upon
the parted cleft of lost worlds reunited in forced mergers and therein
reuniting the fallen with the spawn of Adam…
And in those first few
unmeasured moments, to where the end began a sequence—one that illustrated the
birth of abhorrence, and just how quickly a kingdom of infernality, could be
created in such a place, as the most unbecoming of southern stalls.
Shivering…yet cold is
not understood…
Enflamed and razed,
but the coals are like rocks placed beneath a rill so quaint…
The shapes and forms
would’ve continued their skew upon perception, if not for the blissful
accompaniments, of which the heavens shawled down to comfort thee,
Guarded, even the
worst of us garner the sympathy from family, even those we’ve shunned aside,
turning our backs upon…for no father wishes, nor can bear to watch such depths
of pain and suffering blanketed unkindly over the eternality of kin…
Such incoherent
byproducts of this unsettled estate, a placement or tomb of state, which is that
thing, so far removed from the vocabularies of what most, hopefully, can
truthfully comprehend…
And when the worms
covet what remains, you’d have been long since removed, and we will have then,
long since parted ways…
Floating ethereally
above, the vision grows smaller, losing its impactful proximity with each
fluttering ascent of your downy-feathered heroines and apathetically devouring
elves…
Yet still, you are
encouraged to keep watching…for it is known, that only sentiments of
unconcerned psychologies will confront you therein…as angels escort you to that
place above, way beyond and far away from the defilements that ever so persistently
remain determined to singe and sear any and all incoherent melody relegated to
distaste, pain and all things wished invisibly felt…
And then…the shame of what
once was, becomes again…a relic, a history untethered…bound no more, by the
shell that for so long had bore your name…
