death escaped
my hands
and left me
standing at the altar
the emptiness
received me
like a self-
inflicted wound
in a room
adorned with trinkets of trifle
faintly linking
my alter-ego
to this faux land
of vaulted heart
and vapid mind
where visions turn
away
afraid
to learn
of their inbound
inception
this blunderous aberration
has no station
nor foot
to find it steady
a cistern of depleted days
precedes each ghastly step
in protest
stranded
on the precipice
of a sempiternal impasse
surely they jest
upon questioning
assent to my depression
such pain belies
its own expression
and politesse yet stays
my tongue
Max, or Not 
So dark, Max. I hope you are OK. Cistern, sempiternal, politesse, such sharply precise words. Most chilling lines: “the emptiness / received me / like a self- / inflicted wound.” On a lighter note, the guy in the picture makes me think of Wylie Coyote. :)
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I agree with Christine.
This is so beautifully, devastatingly, written.
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Pieces like this from you always makes me wish I could give you enough light to fill you up and ease all that pain.
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My favorite… I still feel every word… Chilling reflective😏😃😄
“faintly linking
my alter-ego
to this faux land
of vaulted heart
and vapid mind”
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Each line that you write strikes a visceral chord and inspires me to write deeper, darker – thank you (always!) for sharing!
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