A Wicked Veil

The curtain is the humbug’s folly,

“you shouldn’t be doing something - if you have to hide it.”

Pretending to be something gross and Godly,

But hide, I did, and hide, I will no longer; not even a little bit.

lipstick rum wallow beat

Funday for a Sinner’s Dinner club

blue Sunday purple black

chocolate cherry gumdrop soul attack

a syrup treat, lies treatise, demise

Sun rays shine through a popsicle obsession

oral fixation mourning peach

midnight blossoms grow under my feet

A return to the reason and the rhyme,

when I have to hide my tin nuts and bolts.

My innards, giving you a sickly time,

fueling fluorescent anti-black magic basalt revolts.

Within me, I am a tormenting sea, full

of rage and ruptures like he

Without you, I am a cracked crystal, frail and regretful

drowning in the sorrow like she

Within me, without you, I am none of that

I am none of them; I am all of me.

A boozer, loser, stoner, loner, mourner of a brat

full of pluck, spunk, righteous rage; perpetually gutsy.

Like aerial primates, I am much too bold,

so my dusk blue stardust mask stays on,

because I belong to a world of a crushed, broken mold.

I’ll be under here until the utopia-rise, an emerald green dawn.