A TALE OF A WITHERING SOUL

Anxious and awake
Afraid and alone
He sits waiting for the present to pass.
"If only the drugs could make it feel alright",
He lies to himself.
Hoping that one day he won't have to fight.
The sprinkling and spreading of veracity
Begins as a fallicy, falling apart as he once did.
Feeling lambasted
Never omitted the purpose of his call
Yet, the loneliness never ceased to persuade
That pseudo-ending he felt every day.

Peering skyward, warm day.
And as tears filled the cavaties alongside his eyes
He came to the realisation that
Not only did the colours of the everlasting sunsplit sky
Match the colours of his emotions - the hidden being from everyone
But, with his body's overrated consumerism to broken feelings,
Broken and malicious relationships.
That time had reared its hideous head
To surge and let him know it was his time - up.

A TALE OF TWO WITHERED SOULS

A tale of two suns - their embrace seizing at the seams as their secrecy forms a dying sinister haze.
Without the exposé that made their affections
Once so pure, form a feeling ever so mendacious.
She'll do her utmost best to resist the evergreen feelings
Her decision is one to a bleak future between them
Yet she recognises no other form of escape...is she defeated?
And he assumes that his grovelling will win away her grief
As he watches her every motion...
He feels the assault of their past...is he defeated?

Together they lay awake, shaking and tumbling, wrapped up cold and lonely.
On through those last endless nights, where fear and loathing are heated.

A TALE OF THREE WITHERED SOULS

Their seed is of boredom, the flesh of their lives
A fleeting embrace, a burning desire.
As scattered as stars with their forces attracting
They came together through their one common coincidence.
One desire, one deadly sin.
It as lust, not love, that brought that trio here.
And whilst their meeting was special
It was not a rarity or by chance, instead
A blur of clarity and circumstance.

A TALE OF A WITHERED SOUL

That feeling of loss follows him,
A constant drag downward,
Like a gang of mimes
He's feeling downgraded and petty.
All the more fucking worthless and poisoned is he.
He begins to recognise the fault of his own
Travelling with ghosts.
Of all the anger stacked up inside
He's empty.
Like ice in the sun
He hasn't the energy or strength left to hate others.
he blames and detests all that he is.
He realises all he thinks he'll never be
Rather than his flailing potential outside the blinders on his eyes.
"If only he would have listened to the cries"
They say.
He believed he was alone
As he had always felt.