Her winding roads
Putrid with waste and vacant eyes
To the City
Of wasted dreams,
And hearts, that have long since died.
Do you have hearts of crystal, or glass?
Or china, maybe?
So don’t you walk around unchaperoned;
They’ll whore you away
Into the Bazaar of Brazen Beasts,
Lead you into squalid rooms of purple haze
And pound you with their words
In and out…in and out…in and out…
Till it numbs you to the pain,
Until you bleed, and yet maybe…
You have made a pact with your trauma.
What have you done?!
Traded your heart for a Bottle of Dreams
(Or a Bottle of Poison? We shall see…)
Maybe you still believed in fairytales;
You should have grown out of them long back…
Don’t look at this City with your fantasy eyes!
The windows with spangled outgrowths, they hide no Rapunzel inside.
They call it ‘decadence’, as you must know –
Those are whorehouses that trade
On emotions, and compassion, and
The soul they feed on
With lascivious greed and eyes glowing with hunger
Pleasuring, as you scream.
They talk of other bodies,
And blood gushing through other, exotic veins;
Their one true loves
All the while as they are pounding at your brain.
You have muted yourself,
Although you know
It is you who holds the encrusted hilt
Of that useless dagger.
(The one you won’t use anymore.)
You’re in love with your Keeper
Who has left you maimed.
With dark rooms and wine glasses
Your devious lies in honeyed voices
Betraying no pain.
You smile a little, sigh, knowing
The cage has made its claim
You could choose, to leave or stay,
The door was open wide…
Not all those who smile, have no scars to hide.
31 May 2016