i have realized that this mask does not suit me but i have known since long ago that many things do not suit me and now i am overprocessing these pages with pointless words (that i deem to be art) so come along and delve into this abyss with me, filled with angels (that lie upon our shoulders) writing our bounty and our doom; oh! how we have entered this authentic palace within which we are graced (by neither a heaven or a hell), where the evenings are filled with cheeks dripping of merriment under the uncouth facade of sorrow wholly inexistent, whilst the sparrows chirp their hymn of euphoria.
—so let my hands touch this madness as they enlist our coming doom, and let the moon hum their verselets of our failure, let these oceans express their crestfallen lassitude of beige over this summer's careless breeze that descends upon us the crepuscular (of love and hunger); an ugliness that grows farther beyond this apotheosis of vexed hatred and fallen clouds which were tucked underneath my summer bed's quilt; discovered by the orbiters (of this cataclysm), that suffocates my lungs till my throat starts blooming with chrysanthemums, creating a garden of embellished flames that lick the remnants of my torn ambition whilst the angel of death descends upon another weeping soul.
YOU ARE READING
an abstract limn
Poetry❝ but this time i will not be lifted from the realms of this catastrophe, this time i will be dipped into the honeyed lox of this saccharine thought; drowning in the depths of the wilted tulips that have not ever to sprout. look at these alstroemeri...
