VEILED IN A CLOAK, THAT WANTON HOPE

thoughts akin my own, beautifully written in prose

Purple Pants

I stare at that blazing yellow somewhere in a cold distant land

burning bright

wrapped in opulent egg whites.

I stand in gloom dressed in frivolous laughter

death and mist my only neighbours.

Death of my dreams

insufferable pain pelted by the wantonness of that veiled hope,

mists along those forgotten paths

I stumble along to find my way.

I relinquish control

lay beaten along the path

merely breathing,

waiting for my doom,

comprehending my upcoming destiny.

But then I taste hope,

that filthy sin,

mirage in this underworld;

I crawl to that toxicity with new vigour,

to that mystique cloak in my decadent world.

I bleed, scrape my palms and break my knees

Undaunted I still slither

to that adversity masked in serendipity.

That fluttering hope, spreading it’s lethal aroma

embedding me in an addiction

that rises faster than wildfire inflaming my every dream.

But again I find myself…

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