Din of Decadence

I posed no questions before my erroneous conception I never asked to be or not to be Serenading deserted streets with dirges exploring absence in back alleys reciting Ophelia’s soliloquy from memory my words wasted in a world poisoned by apathy Wearily I lay myself down in the dust of desiccated dreams whispering the single syllable of your name so sweet like black cherry bourbon and chocolate hoping you might hear me amid the din of decadence