It’s coming again, this time in waves.
We’ve saved the best for this
blessed moment of return,
spurned every other opportunity
which flew in on currents of gilded air.
So much despair for but one life.
Alright, but our minds are rife
with haggard conceptions
and reflection only augments
these imperfections, blemishes
upon an abstract skin.
Within are chokeholds
and smoking barrels,
heralds of broken ecstasies
better left unspoken.
Here – a token of affection,
from my introspective tendencies
I fear are guiding me to ruin.
Inside of me is brewing
an inconvenient gloom.
Outside of me, the room is assuming
a dreadful countenance
characterized by a disapproving glare
I swear is aimed at me.
Shame on me then for not taking care
of things, surroundings in particular.
Astounding how dust
has taken over everything,
how my trust in myself
has become a cluster of rusty nails,
how through the curtain,
pale fragments of moon bloom
like sails in the wind.