Her angst stains twilight in purple bruises…


Her eyes are charcoal smudges,
twin, vacant potholes
floating with muddy thoughts,
which had once wept
only the idiosyncrasies of onions
~ peeled and quartered,
now they are mystical depths
where nights curl obscure angst.

Naiveté covered her dimples
in soft shadows,
dappling her face in photon-dust
of innocent, artless freckles,
while every dawn
was a chrysalis of intrigue
defined in emerging hues
vivid in their resplendence.

A paradox unfolds in life,
as antonyms are juxtaposed
in an uncomplicated existence,
which becomes a bitter-sour piccalilli
barely gulped down a flinching tongue,
she now sees with intuitive sorrow
in crescent moon, melted desires,
erased by silhouettes of pain.

Splintering glass bangles of dreams
into fragments of futility,
their clinking pieces ripping
her shocked gloom in tatters,
she was a bird of maimed emotions
with wings which refuse
to fly, shackled by sneering fear.

Bruising kisses blaspheme her love
as marauding fingers sully
the soul of her virgin fidelities,
muting her serrated cries of pain
she must endure his touch
and his torturing humiliations,
pledged to him by nuptial vows.

Her days are yellowed pages,
dogeared by tentacles of epithets
voiced in sarcasm and anger,
her aspirations withering
like burnished leafage in autumn,
as she is the cursed daffodil,
throttled by chill of snowflakes
in uncharitable, harsh realms of winter,
when she deserved honeydew spring.

Sighs roll off her tongue in despair
as she accepts inflicted pain,
her tears frosting clarity of smiles
now an apparition of reluctance,
while deft strokes of her concealer
seek to cover bruising violets of pain…


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