My marginal dysfunctions like a panther saunter gliding me out to peripheries edge.
We won't comment on loose banter, someone says.
My mind circles the time as the crow flies,
too disturbed for reentry, tweets the parakeet.
Phase out with allegiance to no one,
Phase back in with desperate facade.
I am blank, bleak and broken.
Well...that's just the token to get us back in ...the Dahlia wasn't always black to begin with you know, so many colors remain to absorb our sorrow.
So lost, forgotten and frail...
a ghastly scene so serene and forsaken.
Do not fret my fellow faire, we are ghosts of crimson lore, pathos to the people...morose...together on the edge of forever.
Interlacing fingers, we stand then walk the plank of insanity...who will hold my hand??
The mind is a beautiful act of celebration...