My heart reeks of rotten rose,
In the rumination of my numbing loom
once luminous
I cease to remain lush
as dust sought to settle
in my petaled palace
A place i thought to remain unscathed
trampled by trotting disdain
Doomed by uncertainty

There used to be be trails
of incense, twirling,
with the aroma
of serenity
Now,
silence rules over sound
and solitude swamps
my field of joy
my path muddled with mourning.
Mornings are dim
Nights,
now blazing
and brazen with a relentless hopelessness
sweltering under sounds of desire,
A ghostly, eerie, rummaging rage
to be heard.