maudlin voices
masquerade
through the night
burning
the ends
of an erstwhile
affliction
fumbling
like infants
with fervent fixation
lamenting
days spent
in a garrulous haste
to dust
turns the water
from bottles
of air
as spirits deplete
without fear
of redemption
tears
of sweet agony
gather in basins
fermenting
‘neath faceless
tombs
rapt in depart
Max, or Not 