I wanna tell you,
But then I’d have to slay you,
Virtually and figuratively,
Unbeknownst of the lash-backs.

Words that are brewed,
Halt at the red-rimmed double door,
Floundering in a quicksand,
And desirous of a disgorge.

Everyone’s got a darkness,
That threatens contagion,
But not everyone’s fleeing
A grim spirit unaware.

It’s been a gamble,
Every resultant road in shambles,
An oscillatory labyrinth of pity:
For yourself and the Sinister gaiety.

A desecrated fortress prevails,
Ruins tossed over for salvage,
The sole surviving fragment treasured
For forging a forgiveness-future.