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Poem
Submerged in his fanciful palette of 
        feigned perfection his fetid smile 
        suffused through the cold laps of the 
        sun. A lantern of ruffled acquiescence, 
        a maquillage of stiff gaze of giggles. 
        The bowels of his heart soaked in 
        muddy threads of rejection, forever 
        lost in the pillows of bruised winds. 

        Alone in the oysters of sorrow, 
        blemishes orchestrate in the valley 
        of his fermented blood. 
        His scars, musty as a tainted 
        weaponized creamy spaghetti. 
        His thoughts enveloped in moulds of 
        decayed grapes.
     
        Tears threw in the tunes of stale 
        rhythm. Where have his
        flavours gone? They have 
        sailed in the crunchiness of a hybrid 
        tree. His textures crumbled in the 
        fangs of misery, buried in the tomb 
        of melancholic barks. 

             Oh, I watch him ride in 
             the incessant anguish 
             of his recurring sail as 
             it echoes through the 
             landscape of his drained soul. 
             Bereft of every genuine chuckle, 
             his sweats a pungent of titan arum. 
             Look, look and you'll see his 
             desperate eyes snare
             beetles of discombobulation. 

      A delve in his skin puked rashes of 
      anxiety. Each mark a peddle to the 
      oasis of disaster. 
      Each pattern a kiss to depression as 
      mercy killing. 
      In a search for fingers at the expense of 
      his toes, he got penitence in plethora.

         In scrutiny of the shallow ballet
         he swirls in, you'll see a mask 
         too stuck to pull out. 
         And in that dance, 
         they are all masked with same 
         lethal mosaic.
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