My perfection covered in gaudy scratches.
Sewn with thick butcher twine
on wine colored satin.
A straight razor to my downfall.
The confection of alabaster empathy
from newscasters in new zealand
all the way down to Nero in braces.
Fakers and overpayed charlatans.
Of ne'er do, and ne'er try.
The body
I was inside of,
once my possession
Now pissed on
and lathered in filth,
an unctuous stink of abandon, and doting imbecile imposter.
Only fooling himself.
Placing his heart on an altar
to nothing, the antithesis to a One.
I can't wait to watch you burn.
In the saccharine folly of infantile conflagration
whored and sold into priceless.
Echoing my fiction.
An abundance of patronizing sympathy.
A failing of my apathetic oblivion.
In a needle
down a straw
underneath one
fresh
cut
strawberry.
The tint of foamed coffee.
The smoothness of a calla lily.
A faltering ephemeral
delusion of salvation.
Crowning my achievements
with no body of work to hold it against.
