Gone like the fallen footsteps
of the deceased soldier;

strewn before me, the
wreckage and disaster of the
dream palace.

rubble burns deeply and the
waling of the living kills the ghosts as they
scour for the remains of their
once devoted hearts.

and so many plea for rescue,
surrounded by the
mutilated intimacy,
but it is too late for roses to
trust the sun.

and dark noon arrives,
salt burns through the calcium and
reaches
marrow;

what do we have left
once the world turns?

fangs are bared, for their
is only antipathy
on the tip of this blade as it waits
to pierce
flesh once more.

malignant distrust,
purulent grief swallows
the spoiled heart,
like fungus to the crop,
the yield is ravaged;

heartbreak
will always hold me
hostage until
I am freed by the next **** trap.