The lunatic, the lover and the poet are of imagination all compact....

A poem i wrote a few years ago. not my best work kind of nutted it out over night, still.

Withering roses with aphids relate
To my fragile and most regrettable state.

Hanging, revolving, with time to reflect
Still eyes can’t focus, calls won’t connect.

I was left in the sun drained and forgotten
Dissolving pearls and bottling emotion.

But distractions were temporary and refused to hide
The crawling cockroaches and swarms of flies.

Now blinded by opium and electric surge
I am volatile and know  it’s time to emerge

Concealed inside a basket of figs
Smooth to the touch but deadly within.

Obsession, euphoria and sweat to decipher
Now scales on skin, a poisonous viper

A shaking limb ready to caress
A flash of ivory pierces my flesh,

Leaves puncture marks on my tattooed skin
Reality - then the venom - seeps in

Chemical osmosis cleaves my brain
Poison reaches my mind through my veins

Your face swims and spins as skin perspires
My hands were bound with rusted wire

Then slowly sinking into a pit of clay
Cocoons my body, siphons venom away

Handmaid places a crown on my head
Adjusts my pillows, smooths my bed.

Internal voices are screaming my name
In death lies peace, and in peace lies shame.