Anatomy of Melancholy
In dizzy terrors, the ominous, relentless pull
of the numb night; sneers, shortcuts
clumsily trod; meandering the easy paths
where sins and lies are perfected and
nourished into pseudo truths that are
delightfully embraced. A credible potpourri
of slippery stones in a quagmire of guilt.
A quicksand of snickering gravity where
nothing escapes except the last one who cared.
Suffocating in our insignificance, too late for
sincere tears, too late to reach for
no one.
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