The
weight of your sins
Depress
deep upon
The
spine—forever
Herniating
the
Conversations
Ever
to remain
Unaligned
The
balance of forgiveness
entrenches
within—the winding
scars
that become the emphatic
provocation—of
disturbances wrestling
strong
inside—entombed, ensnarled amongst
the
covetous coil incubating persistently—still
burdening
the landscape with each forlorn promise
ever
told—and while the delusion of honor still remains—
the
reality permeates this seducing dream—never permitting
acknowledgements
their chance to speak—blindly working towards
some
unattainable dream, while the Iscariot inside arrests and writhes
Shards
of a diluted elegy, broker
silently
prides ascent,
from
whence, out
of
the bubbling hate—
an
ill-crossed path, once diluted
by
perfumeries and colored specks, now
fostering
forward the injective course,
where
disillusionment haunts the presence
of
this intrinsic bliss-filled knot—and in so,
blindsided
it becomes, unwittingly tainting the
vitriol
surrounding the stained-glass chambers
of
the post-apocalyptic promulgation of a soul—
dispossessed,
frayed and suddenly overwhelmed by the
sensations
of a once prominent, yet now redacted and hollow
version
of what we used to caress so close….
Dark
prognostications send antagonistic reminders,
of
how the pretty ignorance will shrivel, as does the petal,
withering
atop the potting soil, fragrant to a degree, yet
decaying
consistently
Atone
we must
but
even then,
there
is a point
where
even
confessionals
themselves
break
down and
cry
for the charcoal
shaded
soul, destined,
only
to oblige the gravitational
flagrancies
of directionality, forever
encouraged
to jaunt forward, only to never
truly
be awakened from the sleep perdition keeps,
inching
unnoticeably toward the ensnaring captivity
that
binds one to the annexes of paralysis, that torturous road
that
corrals the far beyond repaired, to the pitiless posture found
in
the beds of stone—the writhing signature distinct to southern sleep
Depression
gnaws at the atrophied sinew—
for
what has occurred, may be covered thick and dense
yet
never is the collateral fully removed—always remaining, tainting every pleasant
memory, enhancing those nightmares to which are tightly clutched…for the remnants,
the residuals of a once sinful self, ever has a way of reinventing the torture
we inflict upon ourselves
