At Least We'Re Not Letting Our Pheromones Go To Waste
Twist around the rim, a drunken ballerina
Of unsorts, elbow deep in catastrophic
Breakings-perfected works of fiction shatter a
Curtain call. Lasting shards of what I can't stop; it
Burrows into my flesh, becoming hybred with
Misery. I would choose such over infamy
Though difficult to resist omnipotent kiss
It's comfortable the way it is: Destroying me.
A badly broken code of strangled DNA
Foxtrots with weighty pheromones boxed in a high
And void of selfless speakings, whispers yet to say-
The music stopped some time ago to hear deep sighs
Or heartfelt hymns by the nonbelievers;
Symphonies strangled into the night, far deeper
"At Least We're Not Letting Our Pheromones Go To Waste"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith
Copyright © Jenna-Nichole Conrad | Year Posted 2012
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