Lost on purpose

Hope goes forth in a lily-white dress

comes back crimson

sodden and dashed

this nightmare of my making

keeps Death and his friends waiting.

where do I go, where do I exist?

Is this a world, or a faulty paradigm?

Impossible to escape from

impossible to rhyme.

There is no sentence for

the sin of drudgery

only flickering lamps

and unmetered verses.

I am bound to my nebulous design

an impertinent slave to

my violent pleasures

and my indecent sacrifice.

So much, so soon

lost on purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

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