- There’s bloodline and strangers dressed in pitch blackness
- There’s fatness in their cheeks, puffed with sadness
- As I look for intervals of sanity in this whirlpool of madness
- That show even in the blankness’s faces of the melancholic pianists.
- Much it is of a coincidence, of a happening
- To such gloomy faces, the sky seems to be blackening
- The silence amongst the crowd is almost maddening
- It swirls a humming vals in my mind, almost fathoming.
- May this be the sacred ritual, of a sad, despairing entombment?
- It is to check the lack of amusement, concurs with the smell pollutant
- What a ghastly, witty formality, a body in its confinement
- Forever to hold silence, gutted from all atonement.
- If it were to be me, lying still with swollen eyes
- An open buffet for the Lord of the flies
- Would be nothing but wise, to let out my final cries
- Tis’ a prize my demise, contrary to their bed and sheets of lies.
- Am I the lucky love child being buried six feet underground?
- Such destiny shall be, to not mask my giggles with thunderclouds
- As the roses you toss to my coffin, instead flutter around
- Stuffing your mouths with cold coffee with your lips, burned and round.
- I’m merely but a body, who lies still with cut wings
- Winking at you flock of bodies, made of flesh and strings
- Being as fate would write it, it is for you the violins
- To honor on your fingers the blood diamonds, that shine on my chin.
- Much apologies to the depression, goodbyes to my masked guests
- My heart heavies underneath my warmed up, dusty dressed breast
- Worry not for what’s not being confessed, by Death everyone’s chased, possessed
- Adieu farewell, roses and thorns, I leave and pray that in peace, you too shall all rest.
Offline)
Offline)
Para poder comentar y calificar este poema, debes estar registrad@. Regístrate aquí o si ya estás registrad@, logueate aquí.