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O' moment 
of mist-glazed melancholia ~
I'm shrinking in paper-cut smokes
of shrivelling sunsets, 
amidst the seizures of silence, there I surf ~ 
in swollen skulls of selfless swan-orchids, 
that once splattered pigments of poisoned pearls
upon navy-neon shrine of the sun, 
who traded my scars with an eloquent eclipse
and buried me in metallic merlots, 
beneath mercuric lakes of myths. 
 
Tonight, 
hear me 
as I sing in pencil-sketched debris 
of pensive dandelions, 
ferrying through the mine-fields
of monarchial mints ~
building catastrophic castles
upon bloodstones, 
where corpses of intuition
remain clustered 
in clueless imaginations. 
Perhaps, my soul is the sigh 
of graffiti graphites ~
stretched as soft sparks 
across the ebony elegies 
of this iron-inked agony, 
chiseled by the spice
of snow-tailed stars, 
and I've become 
a silhouette of ageless sorrow, 
stitched by the soliloquy of seawaves ~ 
   who shaped me with sepias
   as a dagger in my own shadow, 
engrossed in the 
illicit illumination 
of an eagle-eyed iris. 
      
With the hunter's instinct, 
as the wolf-howl breaks my ribcage
and kisses that crying sky ~
drape me in lunar dew, 
where vitriolic veins
entwine in the mosaic 
of camphor cobwebs ~ 
and slay glittering goblins 
with time-slashing swords. 
For, I shall soon breathe
the rebellion of catharsis, 
in the valley of death ~
when tears of heart, 
trapped in whiskey-rose ruffles 
of russet rays, 
drizzle through
a disastrous dispersion, 
emanating secret sirens 
that swallowed spiritual sailors ~
once serenaded by those 
seven shades of sin. 

I wonder,
can you feel my shivers
as I dip my fingers
 in the venom of volatile violets,
who never heard my cries ~
 as I'm plucked like the last word of woe
from those stems of porcelain damsels ~
dripping diamond dreams
upon freckled garnet gravels?
do those blackcurrant crystals,
coiling the moon,
still grieve...
for feigning ignorance
to this foliage of flaming fears ~ 
 ignited in the lamp of bones?
Or Is love but a lie, 
    engaged to the tomb
    of emerald tyrannies —
like a mistress of harlequin melodies?

"maybe, In Litha's mirror
I shall slowly burn ~
draped in cyanide conspiracies
of crimson memories,
bleeding a diabolical dance of deja vu,
upon the grave of butterflies
who never fluttered...
and I'm the skeletal silk
of nocturnal buds,
veiled in black,
a bride of nefarious mantras ~
blooming in nightglow wisps,
as leaf-lacerated twilight
forevermore tapers me away..."
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