deepundergroundpoetry.com

Insomnia Unchained - with Everavalon

"C.C. rider, see what you done made me love you,
now your gal done come"...Memoirs of my ridiculous
heart when I was but a harmonious lyrical howling at
my shadow of a poetic jester in Twilight's Gothic
theater. Morphing, from the flip of a farthing with
dark and sinful winks with an oath shadowing my
Mr. Hyde in the twilight of my narcissistic flavor.
Leading me to an ancestral link in my unchained
insomnia pillorying my mind's grotesque in
conversation with my corpse widow following the
Ouija and pressing Tarot. Dressed in billowing fancy
pants and hand-me-down Thom Mcan shoes
thinking I was the goosebumps on Mona Lisa's
shawl. Playing second fiddle to The Talented Mr.
Ripley before insomnia woke me to alert and
caffeine jilted my cigarette of obscenities, thinking of
the little man in the boat and falling overboard in my
mind's Odyssey hanging on to life's buoy. �
Imperfect delight riddles the ego whereas peril fades
the lines of intent. Esteem is tailored to the lies
that amplify this meritless character. These pages
of my memoir are greasy and pestering. This corpse
widow we speak of, lurks in the homestead with her
vapour of lust, promoting Mr. Hyde�s greying.
The Tarot held his hand in transition; a volition keeping
with this maddening sleep deprivation. I�ve wilted into
a waxen kilter, off-putting� perhaps unannounced.
The ocean is where it festers as I cling to this buoy,
hardened and distasteful. The crumbs are where it�s bitter.