Manopause
Putrid hatred forming like a snail slinking to the mossy ground below,
Leeching to disgust that drains the emotion from my still life face.
I am a canvas of anguish,
Colored by tension raving in my veins like
A lucid teenager,
Unaware of the angst
But no fear to the tide of idiotic chaos
Married by rash, hasty decisions.
Mark your calendar, my day of dread is near.
Macabre thoughts twisting like a coiled snake hidden by a cave of lies,
Slithering with the scales of dishonesty that masks this next door neighbor personna.
I am becoming a cabinet of rage,
Liqoured by the fumes of aggrevation
Like a teething toddler,
Unable to communicate
But screeching with an infant banshee cry
Only to be coddled in the carress of maternal love.
I do not know this reflection of this man in the mirror.
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