PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

What is this shadow that follows? Be

It like a vast dismembered soul?

Its eyes sporadically cast, stroll

Across the landscape, for none to see,

But Me.

The venomous ghost. I suffer to control.

I hear it. A rapture of chill, to console

My wearied brain. A blackened pupil caries

A light of silent dreams and memories,

Whispering. Paroxetine, Iprindole,

Like deranged tumours, O’ perfect crystal.

They form a mental patient in me. What is madness?

Cartesians say, But little they say of me.

Against this poisoned vessel I stand,

Holding on to that bittersweet taste,

Of pure gentile goldness, heroin.

Oh! A fool! A fool! For no romantic,

Here I stand, partitioned to the edge,

Holding on. Alone. Forever alone.