Band of Mirrored Thieves

i feel the twinging
prickled flesh
as my skin begins
to make its presence known
my eyes wince with tightness
nascent wells
of shame’s dissent
have spent their might
faint with fight
resisting moments worn
on sleeves unseen
pray let me release them
the pools of fetid water
long since gathered
in the basin
of this abandoned basement
hoarded piles of horror denied
dormant trials left love unspoken
musted stains on coiling cardboard
hewn and ragged
strewn atop bedraggled
debris and bristled sheddings
shifting eyes peer through
the flooring
from rotting foundation
mottled with blackened mold
unfolding with dim memories
describing strangers faces beaming
in a flash of crimson sun
who crashed and burned the bridges
division spurning mounds of trash
defiled by rats of sentimental mindset
the wasted lives
sustain their freedom
sinking into ashen sand
lament laid on a bed of dross
dossing down in remnants of disaster
as festering anguish
dares to breach the surface
but its reach is aimless
its will, exhausted
my soul accosted by the albatross
with a bitter sting of remorse
but the truth of it all
bares some detached part of my resolve
maintaining a disparity
with such apathetic fervor
wanting to possess
anything of scant meaning
but dreams no longer save me
from my fevered nightmare
and quite frankly
i just don’t give a flying fuck
my gentle heart was plucked
and plundered
by a band of mirrored thieves
so eerily familiar
as i watched them from my static wrest
their silent footfalls
caved my chest in
each one waded in procession
armed with barbed sticks
trudging off with
my one and only
last possession
wistfully crossing over
the crystalline precipice
through the gift
of an angel’s clement kiss

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

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