The streets are shrouded in darkness and
Fireflies, flickering fretfully forlorn,
Sputter around the lampposts of my mind.
I walk, mindless of the bloody streams that are
Shivering, slowly slipping sideways,
Through the sprite invested alleys of my soul.
The voices call out to come play in the dark
Whispering wretchedly wicked words,
That only the dead and doomed can hear.
Skeleton birds fly high with immortal wings,
Determination daunting despairing dastards
From sour and rotting remains of the past.
This place is one which you do not speak,
Fearing frightful flagellation forever
With dying flowers of scarlet to adorn your grave.
My mind, now a prison of sorrows, plays
Torturous transparent trivial tricks,
Wrapping me in a veil of senseless sanity.
June 3, 2005