Melancholy Atomic 1945 , Salvador Dali

The sky is a Luciferian estuary rolling and roaring in crimson flames, a twisted design of detonated debris, like splitting sighs from internal implosions, raining fragments of the past: matchbox memories piercing through suffocating silence as time tortures the mind with flashbacks of floating fragility… O invisible moonlight, pour me a purple potion to erase the pain behind perplexed pupils. I no longer desire to be cast in the clamorous clusters, convicted as the captive ~ a ghost of games playing on the bones of brokenness, this cave of shame, this cell of hellfire, this emotional shrapnel, reflecting self-loathing nightmares. Perhaps I crowned myself the commander, leading the devil’s disciples into a war assembled from fear… And this heart ~ a metallic maelstrom mourning in the turmoil of melancholy ~ breaks from the inability to step beyond wrathful walls to a landscape of holiness, to seek the footsteps of pilgrimage. For I am caught in the whirling whispers of spectral regrets, replicating rectangular ruins, electrifying the empyrean with greyed grief and yellowed yearning. Pondering ~ am I the blasphemer in the cross-eyed faces of monsters? Am I the breath that trembled ~ disrupting the peace? Am I the empty spaces filling the crystalline cracks between haunting hours, while darkness devours treacherous tales climbing from the archives of devious agony… But can love gift this skeletal sorrow a twilight-kissed cloak of hope? Will heaven be a witness to these bleeding carvings within the tall pillars of my splintered spirit, while the dying lamp of life slowly fades and waves farewell in faint colors ~ depicting misery like demons decaying, shaping a sadistic sanctuary of malignant madness~ a familiar insanity inked as a heinous home…