Author: Max Meunier

as reality unravels

revisiting the void
at once i shunned

i look to see the serpent
has ensnared me
and siphoned my last ounce
of sympathy

as joys of yore
extinguish seriatum

a seraphim is severed
of its wings

in sorrow
i had sought out desolation

for respite
did arose a desperate plea

but destiny absconded
with the daylight

whose defeat was suffered
at the hands aneath

no more shall mortal mire
henceforth remand me

this soul will shed its shell
and sing reprieve

at the very least

my corpse

will have a brand new pair

of shoes

no one looks
to see the restive seas
left in their wake

for if they saw
the sorrow sowed

the past would thus be reaped

to sympathize with captors
of one’s verity unveiled

only validates the fate
from which we flee

and so our sacrosanct delusions
pave these wonted paths we tread

nevermind the methods

for what better victim could exist

apart from one whose woeful plight
is readily compounded

maybe we are

alone

or too afraid
to ever find out

from fertile well
to fallow grave

neath the shadow
of futility

hold me now
lest we fail

to forget

these idle hands shall drive
this dagger
deep into forsaken dreams

by its blade
my beating chest
will bleed the only way
back home

blessed not
are witnesses
confined to open mind

through eyes

bloodshot
behind broken glass

where i have come
to live
alone

at long last

no more questions
asked

just cast my spirit
to the wind

the pen applies pressure

another pin drops

smoke-addled sheets glow dull
by the piercing

and this pill bottle pillow
will not stop depleting

falling behind
in my faint affirmation

felt quaint
for a time
ere the choice was enshrined

in the cistern that once kept
a lone shelf sericious

the everlasting symbol
of souls dispossessed

a relic
of semblant self-bastardization

now stripped
of its nuance

in white light evinced

burning sooth to the touch

like a trembling torch
treads the catacombs of consciousness

chasing each thread
to its one and only known end

like the sins sung
for higher

the hour knew
my name

it was he
whose idle hands and bared arms
bore me witness

and i
who must writhe
with forgiveness

once
i saw you
as complex

now
i see
you have a complex

maybe
we could start
a complicated situation

or take the task on
turning karmic keys
from inside out

it would surely
be a waste

to curl into these coils
not knowing

besides,

something feels familiar

when we stand here

face to face

abandon now
all conscious thought

dispel this land
its woeful squalor

bask in the bourasque
unbridled

undulate
in throes of twain

breathless
are these heedless hours

freedom
doth thy loom bequeath

for not this
the skies allude naught

wrought with writhing
without end

lairs of loss
layered esoteric

fall as life
in sun’s disclaim

restive lips
unveil thy visage

save me
from this coiled ruse