Nostalgia

madness looks back at me in the mirror
my soul blackened with insidious peccadillo
the jungle beat of voodoo drums quicken my heart
I blame on psychedelic whiplash
everybody said would surely sprout through the cracks
in the form of blasphemy screeching at modern art
where paranoia paralyzes and incinerates
therapeutic revelations
and cast a great darkness in hopes of dousing the fire
of malnourished rationalization

my muse has deceived me
allowing me to flounder in reflective smoldering fumes
bloody scenes from yesteryear
where mad craving rage
squandered budding companionship
with a façade of shallowness

©June 24, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton