© Aug 1, 2017. All Rights Reserved.
Beginning with cloying cooties
As I’ve heard in gasconading shadows
Like chick flicks with soulmates on knees,
Proposing, but stabbed by arrows,
Which lacks crossbows from dead angels.
Mangled stares from many angles
Till the gentleman is ashes.
Thus, I’m shunned as my soul crashes.
The coquette weeps dusk rivulets
On a squeamish canopy bed, which loves,
Gyrating its legs on moquettes
As an outlet, there’s yanked shoves.
It escalates; they compromise.
Hyperventilating with replies,
They say their goodbyes speechlessly,
But has she no decency?
Outgoing, stopping for no turns,
Her buddies smooch her concerns to rest
Like sleeping pills she discerns.
Confabulations for years distressed
With comburent mollycoddling.
Lollygagging near every firstling,
I saunter the outskirts of town,
Just to stalk her stay with a frown.
On my lonesome, I tattoo cadavers;
In my reveries; they’re my clones.
Forward has mephitic conquerers,
Fallen like gags on echoed moans.
Pregnant hills from lava, which squeals
Like haleness to qualms, but love fulfills.
As I stalk them in haunted funhouses,
Confined, the bona fide agony arouses.
A fusillade of questions I can’t fathom
Entails her murdered ex in a funhouse,
Trampled by untied gasoliers. Gruesome.
Will this excursionist be my spouse?
My malformation of the heart is fading.
Drenched in a burden of tears cascading.
Her mellowed hairs run eventide.
Just like her future, pneumatic bride.
Lambasting my psyche for the bride,
So I verily shot her after ephemeral vows.
A heap of cadavers redden like genocide
As I aim pass a hundred, hollow boughs.
Bullets are my lagniappes of exhilaration.
The same woman’s alive for our vacation.
Her heart’s my perpetual keepsake
Held pass a daily gallimaufry of daybreak.
I’m a worrywart in a treasure-house.
Which can be a cesspool to a savoir-faire.
Tenebrific steps to my rectified spouse
Are as present as lingered, thin air.
Lacerated limbs fold aesthetically.
Her benign tears fall harmoniously.
Captive, I show her the agony I felt alone
Till she’s grown kissing her tombstone.
Isaiah Lawrence 