Soft Rose Decay, Sweet Lilac Morbidity

Sculpted hammer of divinity comes down, and
My skull is cracked and leaking
Adorned by a veil of mourning glories in full bloom
Laced, tethered stems joining at the base
Soft gentle petals hugging
Clinging to my foul, wretched mind
Fragrant, bleak decay is periwinkle and silent
Unlike me
Who's hard to quiet down
With sweet bells in my ears
And a microphone at my lips
Sweetness is you at my disposal, now isn't it?

My heaven's moon is not unnoticeably distant, dry
Smugly mirroring today's options and casualties of mind
The mindfully loathed barriers of the doubtful dreamer
I'm not unlike any other common beggar
Or better yet deem me a Paris guttered snail

Because I can sing, spend, scream and age in terms of
Obscure, glamorous delicacies
Or simply deceive with confidence about
Blind faith in imminent recognition
But I'm native to a South's unrefined peasantry
You persist in blowing my head up, confirming my every doubt

I chant pleadingly in my mind and cheer for all these
Pastel, blessed tombstones of pained, unresolved victories against self
These times I've defeated beasts occupying and feeding upon my inner most parts
So then i'd heal by talking about
Satin flesh and jeweled eyes, marble bones
Consuming a dainty, kinder idea of life's harsh entirety

Don't take my honey coated candy when yours turns sour
Don't rake the roses from my garden bower
Listen, I'm not what I appear when I'm inherently ignited
Watching you silently piece out your orange hot
Captive circus of inferno lust in my wake
I'm possessing your heart
And hating you for never knowing
The death of me and my heart all those trying times

Well at least these howling mutts of fettered glory
And these rose bush injuries
Can share with me their loud contradictive rivers of red wine and yesterday's bindings
And give me the right to lament for yesterday's innocence
And to preach my most detrimental horrors with the
Grace of a sleek, mute dove
And the style of any other artist born blue
Sweet lilacs entice me, and
The glimmer of your last night's star lights, all else brisk and black
Peaches, plums, blessed forever
White lace, faded noir
What will be my final moon?
What will be my final star?

This poem is about: 
Me

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