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
Copyright © Angela Douglas | Year Posted 2023
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