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


