Saturday, December 21, 2013

The Curse of Winter ( FLU 3)

The burning candle
canvas of anemic images
can be seen by these ailing eyes

Streams of cosmic meddling 
gyrating spectrum of phantasm 
reliving pieces 
zoetic in dynamic prelude 
a decrepit's vanilla brain bonk...

Troops of quietude
tried to mingle with multicolored lights
emitted from the Christmas tree
tormenting this earsplitting silence...

Sentiments never bail out these sickish lips 

take this bug in me 
this bug eclipses in hell's cloak 
impaling the weeks gone passed 
I hate the decrepitude it created
my prime pleasure killer 

As the burning candle weep 
melted flames infusing my arteries 
canvas of anemic images 
can be seen by this ailing eyes 
a distant decrepit...i become...

Don't finish me yet
i'm not well rehearsed for my funeral
repulsive submarine
my imminent low...

before, the crisp winter wind blew me
each blow teeming with toxic spell
each breath...each flutter...
paradisiac...flawless drown.

Who would thought i'd breathe the wicked poison
out of mother nature's breath?

Was it your fault...
Was it mine...
Was it...the totality?

As the burning candle continued to weep
I lit the lemon grass incense
hoping the healing aroma
could ease the befuddling inside me

my eyelids half close
and again I submerge to the torrents of my favorite songs
leaving all questions to the unknown.

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