Theater of Sorrows

Beautiful Bitter Winter

You are my Theater of Sorrows
Stairway to madness, twisted, narrow aisles
A stage of grotesque distressed folly
Don’t peek behind the velvet curtains, despite the growling sounds
You’ve turned my mind vengeful against me
Amorous with killing, it seeks my gruesome death –
Distraction by frivolities and debaucheries my only saviors
Intermission frees the demons, storming in like a murder of crows –
Dark totems stalking my sanity; The last act too cruel, even for lidless eyes
My spirit laid barren upon this frozen ground; Cue Poe tears…
And all I hear is the melancholy of this storm, raining ash; I can’t go home
Floating down, it swallows every light that spills through keyholes
Suffocating with false apology. Heaping dead metaphors, clichés and anecdotes
I walk with melancholy, its murmurs turn to grey in the chilly air
This desolation of the mind won’t be weathered like a storm –
You are the winter of my summer, with eyes of sorrow that haunt the hardest of hearts
Here in our womb, the curtains guard our secrets, dark and heavy, moist and yearning…
Ceiling fan blades blur as the air turns inside out
This bed is cluttered with our downfall
Restless roped sheets like nooses, their shadows creeping up the walls
A TV lullaby can’t stop the bleeding. It can’t dull this seething pain
A thousand screams of bitter torment, brutalize your aching head
You’re a ghost haunted by demons, howling out your rage
Decadence is where you wallow, to free you from this cage
And in the dark, our bodies touching; We’re separated by a thousand years
You want to hurt, you want to slice me –
To crush your blinding pain and cauterize your tears
I can’t find my mind, to turn it down. I can’t weave your sour into sweet
Skin hot on skin, but a musky confection won’t make you forget what you’ve lost
But in my insanity I’m the sane one, when the dust has settled and errors litter the floor
You, my love, are the deranged one, crashing into violence, burning all your tears, berating angels
Singing, screaming and wailing, you stuff their mouths with woe
It’s too deep, this chasm… Our bedroom now nothing but a tomb
But you love suffocating – sucking down dark despair and ruin
And you can’t make repairs for all that you steal
In our furor, this firestorm, an indelible truth…
Falling into your lunacy, worshiping your nature, dark and deep, hideous and lovely
These droplets of my blood, flowing from each cut… a sacred map for you to follow –
Like a tribal tattoo
Thick and inky snowflakes when they hit the floor and spread open
Like my heart, no matter your rampage
My spirit a wasteland; I will sweat, anguish and toil through this winter in my summer
Bear this burden with poetic mourning as I right my mind
And should I then be among reason, having soothed the fallen angels that have seared my psyche
Having dredged the demons in gasoline – their yowling be damned…
The Theater of Sorrows curtain comes down

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