the mome raths outgrabe

so many dazed,
like it makes up,
for how you actually had me razed,
erasing me,
while you set up on stage:
you live without menace though,
so that makes every mistake okay,
like my essence wasn’t crescent enough,
detached from real life,
pretend cos play,
game, set, match; forty-love,
forwards, back, volleys and baselines,
encrypted conned mission,
fixed for a quick rise,
slick hi-5 and you’re done,
sly lie lines,
squeezing on waistlines,
but your mind’s on:
what’s not mine.
I descripted each layline,
built you a pyramid;
my Orion star bow shrine,
waste of my timeline,
I manoeuvred roots for your music,
counterfeit and stupid,
fountain and favours,
borrowed treble clefs in your name,
and silence is the price you pay.

after shave, perfume,
the smell of heart break and rage,
laugh lines as old as the stars:
our divine spark,
extinguished in a sullen ark,
another ancient adage,
finished, before given the chance to start,
tingles return,
while you examine your humanity
your spirit jumps hurdles:
they’re trying to send you back to me,
when your love was mine,
I think my heart back to lastly:
but I don’t want any part,
of your psychological vasectomy,
in the cold light of day,
it was just never meant to be,
your dark vibe signed me benign,
where you once poured light into me,
it’s bright here
at the end of this tunnel;
but you’ll never make it out,
because your kernel’s all stumble.

Cut me at the pulmonary,
extraction of spirit,
I wish it was different,
your unearthly incisions,
match the lack of forgiveness,
tried my best,
to stick with the rosemary.
I collapsed,
under the pressure of it,
under the influence of depression,
a vision of how we used to be,
clueless now; we’re just a catastrophe,
not even an apothecary,
could cure my mental health,
wishing I could have released you with stealth,
my sophisticated grace,
it was simply too much,
for my mind to take:
malfunctioned curiosity,
I felt the melt in my brain,
thoughts played out,
dissected in front of me:
living insane,
these shivers mean nothing now,
and nor does the blame.
I lay claim to a shadow of a former you,
now buried under brambles;
I’m a fresh shade of pain.

ink is free, so...

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