That bore stare
at my condemned existence,
such vain entity, ghoulish puppet,
pathetic mannequin I have become.
No words can adequately describe
the vague sentiment,
the desolate nights,
the adulation that corrupts
my distraught soul.
There I seek comfort, such pity,
in my own infatuation.
What cruel lies have I told myself?
Where are those vanquished dreams
I had as a child?
The good samaritan has vanished,
left astray by vanity and pompous affairs.
A ghoul of an opening scene,
impeccably dressed for one last act.
©Martin D Angelus [2019]
Juana Díaz, Puerto Rico
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 2:03 PM UTC
That bore stare
at my condemned existence,
such vain entity, ghoulish puppet,
pathetic mannequin I have become.
No words can adequately describe
the vague sentiment,
the desolate nights,
the adulation that corrupts
my distraught soul.
There I seek comfort, such pity,
in my own infatuation.
What cruel lies have I told myself?
Where are those vanquished dreams
I had as a child?
The good samaritan has vanished,
left astray by vanity and pompous affairs.
A ghoul of an opening scene,
impeccably dressed for one last act.
©Martin D Angelus [2019]
Juana Díaz, Puerto Rico