The Day Of The Dead

Round and around 

adjacent...

underground

Beyond me...

despite me 

Through me...

inside me 

In over my head, 

mind full of dread...

bedhead descent 

Head over heels...

fell for their spiel 

Am I dead? 

No! 

Just left, 

hung in suspense...

by narcissistic intent

Conditioned...

condensed 

Flayed, 

by dismay...

when my thoughts

slipped away

Caught dreaming

of better-hued days 

Betrayed...

given away

by my myriad of words 

Cursed...

by belligerent herd

Their greasy hands

slick…

thick with greed

Kneading, 

lusting, 

wanting...

pieces of me

Berating...

my peaceful fuelled dreams  

My

body’s 

bruised peach,

sick...

to its stone

Seeping...

gifted

poisons

Bleeding...

scarlet 

ribbons of need

Watering their seeds

of infinite...

egotistical needs

But can

thought-flowers

break through...

intricate facades,

ornate 

skull masks...

The Day Of The Dead?

Could,

my rose wreath 

eclipse...

enlighten

their fierce, 

wizened 

skewed doom 

Or perhaps

instead, 

familiarity ferment...

cause resentment 

Either way, 

I’m no longer present

for their rise 

or demise...

scribed out of lies

Devised 

to spy

into my kaleidoscope mind…

mosaic glued-life

Which 

I tried

to compost anew...

fertilize hope,

truth!

Even though  

they...

never planned to stay, 

despite 

love-bomb charade 

Just considered me

stone, 

used...

to step upon 

After all 

words

could never 

break bones...

or could they? 

No matter, 

only stayed...

a very short while

Until, 

their paranoia 

bred wild...

triggered 

my innate 

intervention  

At last 

my self-worth…

began its rebirth, 

as they

tried

to seize…

what was left of me, 

a divvied-up whole

But what do I know? 

I only hoped

to grow strong 

Yet, 

here I am…

buried alive, 

when just

wished to thrive 

Mistook…

chameleons

for guides!

Slithering  

aside

into colourful arrays…

a magnificent display

auroras’ decay, 

adorning my grave 

Deft

allegories in vain, 

spent

cuttings they gave…

withering away

Just a vase

of nasty 

dead heads…

red slender threads,

tourniquets…

to false fates

Not

beloved soul mates…

torn,

broken apart

as Zeus coldly slew...

parted, 

made two

from one single form 

Yes,

I've been 

darned...

too many times, 

with

“Baby please,

give me one last chance”

Even though spears

keep falling 

like tears…

cascading through

black-holed

voids 

Once bright, 

azure gems…

now swallowed indents

Shadows of hurt,

taking their toll…

relentless hyperbole 

Shambolic parade…

sharp callous 

chicanes

Carved out

crevices….

from behind-back,

crossed promises

Deafening…

the audacity, 

as I watch 

circumventing,

coldly calculating

serpentine… 

circumnavigating 

Seemingly…

endless faux chain,

doubling back 

again and again…

upon me, 

upon she, 

upon themselves

Only...

to plant 

meaningless questions, 

that lead me

nowhere

Utterly lost

in despair’s

labyrinth of pain…

beneath traumas’ 

patched quilt, 

my life has built 

But does it

even

matter?

My head’s full 

of their chatter 

Ghosts with excuses, 

returning as 

Zombies 

As really...

does anyone

truly care

anymore? 

© Debbie Razey 2023 - Violet Moon Poetry