I Prefer Not To.
why is it
that only upon leaving
do you voice
lament
fleeting amid
sentiments
and sudden
things to do
promised hours
perish
in a flash
of wistful
alley light
scarce
your words
remain
as token trials of hope
since lost
hanging in denial
are faded smiles
and fusty
mothballed coats
in the closet
strung like latent
trysts
listless
and long forgotten
often
we obscure our words
for fear
of truths
only they hold
unable to bear
the letters
staring back
so stark and cold
still
we must express
our feelings
lest we tend
our spirit’s death
ink
like blood
begins congealing
with every
unspoken breath
none would choose
to bear such burden
from an ivory tower
of pain
shattered tears
shall heed no warden
each and every
one the same
so it is
through words
thus written
pittances
of what pervades
dormant tales
awaiting
to be spoken
from beyond
the grave
when everything
is gone
nothing matters
the only place
you still exist
is barely even tangible
but you don’t care
no one cares
not even death
and so it persists
fading in
and out of shadows
faces
of bizarre contortion
glaring
as a stranger’s
features
reach into
this bed of famine
trapped within
these walls
without you
terror-stricken
anxious
reeling
haunted
by fates unforeseen
fleeing
from my own escape
on paper
pouring tortured
thoughts
poring over
art
distraught
in attics
dimly lit
amid daunting stacks
bearing chronicles
so unfamiliar
taunting
with disparity
the stalking stares
cast cold as steel
the last pain
I am left to feel
is lost to numbness
pitted in this hole
that was my conscience
plastic melts
like sugared air
and time conforms
to nothing
songs persist
through voices shared
with context
ever shifting
if only
you could walk beside me
on these planes
of swallowed hope
placid seas
would then return us
sadly
this will never be
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
To LIVE
is to have
the TRUTH
of one’s individual
PERSONAL
experience
perpetually
INVALIDATED
by the WORLD
around you
with special
EMPHASIS
on those
who ARE poised
to KNOW
YOU best
petulant plebians pandering prose
spawned out of spite from depictions composed
of pithless and petty ploys poised to appease
a princess of poisonous pedantry peeved
with patrons plucked patiently tempered by pique
their person purloined spurred by spurious speech
supinely complying peremptorily
pliable pupils impaired by erred pleas
obsequious as pavlovian lapdogs
a precedent of appalling demagogue
imparting dispatch surreptitiously reaped
to pose such a perfect impression oblique
to passively present through public dispose
promotion of disreputable depose
to please their despot’s pathetic importunes
perilous plots born of perceived impugn
sparing none, for all are prone as her pawns
through solipsist eyes of contempt and despond
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 
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