depression
is a slice of pizza
stolen from your hands
by Jesus
everything
you ever wanted
waiting
on the “other” side
pearl of power
long expended
Supple Skin
by Christ Dior
thrusted
through the door
of demons
doomed to fail
forevermore
and...
or...
...some shit like that
o zinnia azure
have i awaited
on this shore, forlorn
ebbing
in the fading flow
of fleeting sways
no more
shifting
slivered beams of light
adorned our flesh
with lips immured,
its passive adulation
kissed with scorn.
the lines did yearn
for tempered reason
dearth dividing
us, its wrath
though nothing
would forewarn
of weeping skies.
there we stood
the air, impending
propped on painted panels
as the precious
pretense
pooled
beneath thine eyes.
now was then
the past
conspired
thy petals
turned to frigid shades
assembled
in the midst
of Eden’s garden.
torn
between diverging dreams
two tenuous devices
tethered
drifting
from the lure
of looming argent.
i close my eyes
and see the stars
burn bright
like ghostly spires
summoning the scenes
soon cast
to thought
the wistful sear
of ceremony
fraught with seas
of sentiment
the present’s
mirrored presence
a mirage
the pin
pricks of the erstwhile
ways
we watched
awash with sorrow
whose poignancy
was spurned
and spent for naught
afforded
by the looming morrow
latent
with lament
as the pillow
wrests my head
to see us
off
the paradoxical nature
of existentiality
in the context
of how it relates
to the perception
of consciousness
experienced
by sentient beings
is far more parodic
than one could ever
fathom to confer.
which, is why
i prefer not to.
exist,
as it were
there is a fine line
between life and death
at least, there was
until you snorted it
threw your head back
winced in pain
as i exclaimed
“that’s NOT cocaine!”
~whatever…
still, i must report
the ochre ache
each day
arises
prodigal
in its apprisal
clement spires
accentuate
the framed inversions
set to sine
whose firmament
was forged in limbo
cast in curse
dispersed
through time
i guess
it was not all
a loss
at least
as long
as you got high
i saw the sky
succumb to gray
when last i held
my head up high
the storm was nigh
though stern
with pride
it washed away
my wistful sigh
and in its wake
a will awoke
whose end
devoid
spoke ire forthcoming
and to this day
the red sun, scorching
tends the toil
that whispers i
there isn’t any point
which is why
i’ve naught
to fall on
to run
me through
this star-bound cycle
and safely
see me
home
you know
you’re alone
when you walk
along seams
in a somatic suit
not fit
to be tied
swaddled up
by the scenes
blaring in the periphery
and all you can do
is stare
down at their feet
it is here
where you meet her
the mother
of earth
as a seed
she had sown
when the samhain sun set
and the darkness
arose
to a soul
disembarked
upon eden
this one goes out
to the loyal believers
in those of us
prone to fall
from the earth’s face
without the support
and forethought they bequeath us
our will to go on
would diminish
post haste
and though we may not always
properly thank them
in ways that would truly
convey how we feel
our unending gratitude
stays with us always
regardless of whether or not
it’s revealed
for even the smallest of gestures remain
a part of the tapestry
weaved by such memories
mitigating the duress of each day
and giving us comfort
within life’s infirmary
Max, or Not 
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