Dear Diary

dear diary...
 
this flashback is haunting me  
just like family ghosts raving
      in the parlor  
drowning in the spilled tea
     of my memory  
swirling sugarcubes slowly  
      with a rusted spoon
 
 
another day...  

I could smile like a clown performing  
under the big top,
but my carnival rides  
                                   have all stopped...
 
 
 
 staring through a thin veil
    they stares like ice
the reflection is clouded
    by steaming breath
bubbling inside the kettle
with each footstep, the veil  gets thinner
 

 
broken kaleidoscope  
spinning the colors of songbirds  
screaming Slyvia's poetry  
getting plastered by Bukowski  
 
 O' there is an art form in  
            conquering death  
with a shot or two of whiskey  
   brewed in a shack in Kentucky  
 
so stands the dainty silhouette  
                         crafted by ash
template of spells being casts  
 
 the lips of the stargazer speak
while sitting on throne made of  
             ...white marble stones  
calcified pale as ancient bones  
 
but I always seem to get lost  
in the shallows of bitter tears  
and colorless butterflies, fluttering  
as the metronome stops, my heart skips  
                                          a beat...
 
as Nico McBain keeps drumming