Delirium in C minor
Bobbing apples in a vat of disease,
Anarchist pills, so sweet and so sticky,
Cyanide drops and poison champagne,
Just stick out your tongue and say please.
Molten minds, and rotting grey matter,
Witty maggots in their alabaster castles,
Perfect failures sprouting from love,
And a pulsating soul on a platter.
Stuffed innocent eyes, and still virgin ears,
Barrels of discord, aged like fine wine.
Chocolate dreams, with razor blade cores,
And rusty bullets to conquer those fears.
Ebony petals, a glass of liquid lies,
Dish upon dish, tubers and tumours,
Acrid sweet pies, bitter like nectar,
Apathy, roasted like pig, and basted in flies.
The serenade of wailing dead horses,
Symphonies of screams and plastic spiders,
Bars of rodent squeaks and deceptive slithering,
And a chorus of harrowing voices.
Baroque tables and a broken chair,
Master less puppets dead like snow,
Blue fairies in the walls, painted in gold,
The ground ice, and blackened with care
Littered behind us like shimmers,
Blood and sage footprints, dirt and silk masks
In black-on-black ballroom gowns we trapeze,
Waltzing like two narcissistic sinners.
Tarnished silver, arranged like the French,
Romance in Paris, like wax stains on the table,
Vases and water with broken glass blooms,
Candles burning like the pious in lent.
This delirium, this, it is bliss,
This is heartache, this is your kiss.