I am attired in blue eyed wide imaginings
trimmed with distaste.
Like some silent movie heroine
clasping each one to her breast.
Then she, slicing their umbilical – with cut throat
precision gives them back their liberty.
In silent victory, she watches as to the earth
they soak; this to be their freedoms final flight.
Ring out sweet merciless exposure, soaked barren to the skin –
red lipstick – black hats – mourners feign all tears.
See how easily they drown amid the flotsam
a red rose wooden frame – smiles back their recollections.
Fracture open this make believe insanity
for who is left that chooses to even know my name.
Move over; let me lay myself at odds with time.
Am I too late?
How can I know?
My worn out flood gates they bow to the weight.
Left alone I slice myself irregular chunks of gathering pain. .
Will someone raise the lights offer me an interlude
– A prelude.
The atmosphere is upon me to cower and hide.
I do not desire anyone’s name accept my own.
My retreat has gone absent without leave.
Should I now be amazed to be lost in this maze?
What else terminates with death?
Outside that is, the never knowing who it was
that placed those orchids white
beside my endings path.