Abandonment is the world’s
most commendable artist.
Crosshatching portraits of my
interior psyche in sensitive cerise.
I find his sketches deviously irreversible;
predicting paranoia in raspy voices.
Contour lines repeat in guttural voices:
“We have great plans for you”.
Tense hours of stilted heartbeats
dig their unanimous heel in time's back.
Sooty Stygian canvases break in two;
fiery golden arrows swoop down to
spear me from above.
Where I used to trust
angels slit my throat with malice.
Days bring blazing inferno,
consuming the will to live eagerly
as solemn silences stretch.
I sense vacantly from under my
scorched pile of relics,
that my resistance has fallen
on the battle field.
Dying embers glow red
in my iris's.
Even though wounded endeavors
smoulder the mourning into my eyes.
I'll ascend as a phoenix
out of the firestorm.
Painting myself another new day
in serene blue watercolours.