Faithless Wraiths

slighted

by eluding slumber

on this

the eve of our undoing

a queendom

once as mighty

as the matriarchal moon

teemed with warmth

effusive

now reduced

to shards

of lucid shame

poring over

penned epiphanies

of deconstructing

torrid tales

torn into pieces

taking flight

as footsteps fall

fleeing from

this strangest feeling

folding into

flawed expression

told by victors

sold to loss

pictures steeped

in surface tensions

depths of our

sustained dissent

situated on a slab

of drab somatic sediment

a case of faithless

wraiths

drunk

on the urgency

of slow submersion

there is no function

left to serve

no faction

fraught with fervor

fading into fields

of fescue

overtaking structures stoic

tucked away

’til all the hands

of time

release their souls

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[Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of…