A day, a solitude .
That caricatures life
in the mask of another
fixed in a bitter smile..
The artists' entrance
is for despair
who drinks a last beer
before falling asleep
in the deep of the oblivion's scum
Without even a good night
or a glance for this illusion
of wise communion ...
While waiting for the end
we finds the words for a testament,
wreck of the carnal ,
drift into the gutter's channel ...
Anguish always strikes at midnight ,
after the last guest removal
and the first ghost arrival ...
Bottles are empty
from all reason and venison...
Carmin imprint on the lips of a glass
what was once a kiss
from Magda Goebbels...
Solitude is cabaret parody
applauded by corpses in disguise ...
Acrobats swinging on the spider's vibe.
You'll end up , poor failed actor,
into the lethal arms of a worldless doll
who believes she exists,
coming into play for a handful of pixels...
In the early dirty morning, exorcised...
Always so alone in our inner crowd...
Tell me, doctor Freud ,
why this instrument of evil ?
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 11th, 2025 08:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy, Ellen Marsell
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Comments3
Lorenz a powerful poem with many great lines and images. It speaks dissolution, manipulation, delusion and a world where they all exist. A fave
Thats the question or the answer ...Is solitude instrument of evil ? Thanks a lot for fave !
Tales of Hoffman rears its head, only wearing nary smile on his face, the ghastly, macabre face of reality fewer know so well as the artist delineated to rather exquisite perfection on one angle, that emptiness which haunts our driven pursuit unmasques itself herein and we recognize each other in a glance. If only Sigmund hadn't been so rebellious he might give a satisfactory reply. Oh, I love how capably you've woven so much into this swatch, making it a keeper. Gorgeously rendered with excellent imagery and a fitly haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
Just write to the dark it answers eventualy between sink and grave...
Hahaha. If I dare try that it'll gladly cozy up with me until I squirm.
The text deeply moves me. It pays tribute to the quiet tragedy that artists sometimes endure.
Stage door to silent tragedy .
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