the air thrums with potential
heartbursts of compressed
recalcitrance,
the moon hangs moribund in
sickly shades of amber tinted
umbrageousness.

and here i lay sadly listening to
the sickly thump hiss of corroded
arteries,
my mind tangled in webbing from
lies spun in silvery tongued
sanctimonies.

less a scribe than an idiot awash
in an oceanic tide of crushing
verbosities,
a damned fool trying to not seem
so desperate yet flailing about
spasmodically.

a blightfully cancerous lesion in
legion with leprous and lecherous
laproscopies,
a pressed blossom between sheets
of vellum coated in inkstained
ignominies.