The condo was drowning in its own pool of blood
1936 Red Margaux wine splattered in an elegant nonchalance over the wooden tiles
Love was bleeding in trapped square walls,
Hiding behind torn off French posters and Van Goghs
Red eyes crystal skies fearless nights
Chorused with broken baritones and sinister Rolexes ticking
9 t o 5 , 9 t o 5
For a million dollars, a million good mornings hung shallow between
Empty spaces and forced new lines
Armani suits filled with rage, and torn out hair
Tucked elaborately in the waistcoat pockets
Beds lay innocent prisoners of war between endless fights between him and her
Or atleast, what used be a 'her'. And the floor was strewn with intangible petals of he loves me he loves me not
But what none of those sixty three women knew
Was that petals were infinite when he showered his love
Briefcases, suits, ties and shoes
Smothered those tiny dried up autumn leaves of love to ear-splitting crumbs
For men were trapped in the paradigms of work
Flushed with expensive 1936 Red Margaux wine
What we were fooled to think we once loved
Only killed us like slow poison, one failed lover at a time
Red eyes crystal skies fearsome nights
Chorused with broken baritones and sinister Rolexes ticking
9 t o 5 , 9 t o 5
YOU ARE READING
Senescence
PoetryA collection of poems written in the darkest of dungeons and brightest of riversides in the crazy stretches of my imagination. A few words from the ink-stained hands of an idler. Sometimes of love, sometimes of joy, sometimes of misery in the long j...
