The last Page
O Heartbeat,
my leather moon journal ~
3 AM thief of pulsing thoughts,
the last page is missing,
there is no signature of sin
but an epigram of an exhausted empath ~
pressed with paper promises
and light of lifelines,
demons do not rhyme tonight,
they scream through tongues heavy
with accusations etched
between aching apostrophes,
as claws crawl with
synonyms of lunacy,
pushing ink into
personified prisons of paranoia,
the shackles of shame
triggered amidst toxic tercets…
I wear fears like a flawless failure,
flipping favorite fallacies,
fluently free-flowing,
frightening feelings,
hanging on quivering questions ~
what if love forgets the lyricism
of my face?
what if poetry were just
another phase?
what if I am but an illusion,
a hypothetical haze,
painted when the Sun’s
penciled presence
was once upon a moon,
a painless paradise?
What if sedatives sway me
to where I sleep upon the
blue-green spark of silenced stars?
Would you still taste my bruise?
Would I still be your muse,
or would I remain
an amethyst recluse,
breathing ballads of bleeding blurs,
when weary commas are
collapsed in ice-cold conditions,
carved with colors compromised?
Forgive my need to feed
the spoken truth of desire,
I long to feel the rose-fire
romanticized in manic metaphors ~
Let my soul once more
kiss the lavender air,
wish upon a fleeting flicker,
and phrase the traces
of violet tears
in sheer shamelessness…
I am nevermore the
mistress of midnight miseries,
a despairing dreamer
alliterating the angst,
writing the wrongs
in righteous rhythm,
a difficult affliction
from the dialect of the devil,
a grammatical error
misspelled as an immovable mistake.
I am peace p u r g e d,
voice of virtue,
the versed voluptuousness
of valiance ~
Sincerely ~
I, your Master-Stroke,
lawless sonnet of stillness,
fingers of the sinless sky
forget how to keep meter ~
proofreading the penultimate couplet
of insanity intensified ~
the magnified madness…
and what if everything
is anything
but a deceitful drop of
distorted diction ~
what if I am
the unfinished poem,
revised and rehearsed
while I wander
the forlorn forests,
like a m o u r
n
i n
g full-stop...
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