Behind the daunting innocence

Pure glass of water neither half empty

Nor half full.

I you look closer however you may see

The festering bacteria that lies behind.

--

Emancipation never exists for me

There shall always be another.

While I sit here in this place

That I created for myself

Where spiders roam—pretty silk cobwebs

On which reality spins its phantasmagoria of colours.

--

Sepia for those picture book memories

That never seems quite lost.

Pitiless turning of pages,

They continue to preserver with time

Though the day of remembrance still lingers there.

--

Metamorphosis of verdure and onyx

This distorted bruise of my transgression

Why can’t they see it?

I wish to be faithful,

I wish to have given.

But then comes those times

When the steel flutter of wings

Claw at my resentful mask.

--

Build a cocoon of sapphire and gold

Out blossoms a marionette

Its invisible strings attached.

She wants to be independent,

And the jaundice of lies flitters in.

But rotting azure and dirty, threaded through the wood

Is a growth so hideous,

It dare not speak.

--

Finally pipe dreams of sanguine

She—I—wishes her confessional could end.

But what would a confession be

If it did not hold a trace of truth?

In this hazy glare

Where the elegant humming bird spreads the viscous nectar

The assurance of mortality.

--

With a glance at my wristwatch

The reality ends.

When C is for certainty

And O is for obligation

Where the L is my list of peccadilloes I must tell

Another O for every offense

This U for the grey universe which I have to live in

And lastly R, the repentance I lust for…

Oops, that is of course:

One.

More.

Sin.