Reveries of Decrepitude

I.(The inertia of being) Where light departed stands an auditorium of modern movement, a breeding ground of great thought and macabre sentiment under the black sun, a fallen star with a biting shine where the dead play on instruments strung by the fibres of my mind; they have no voice but expose the possibilities of the flesh that we are a residence of stars in organic vests amidst an aimless craving for matter in an inertial land where the greatest mountains are only future sand; we look at the other with black eyes in kingdoms of gold that our rooms were painted with shades in blatant control so now the coloured flashes never burn my eyes the way the black sun pulsates my optical demise. II.(The emptiness of where I walk) Through the streets men dance in no verdant direction their audience exchange movement of directive perplexion; I have been washed - I look beyond their light for angels exist only as statues, horrible and white consumed by ashes that consume dreams of the cosmopolite I have everywhere sought, loosing my view of left and right imprisoning my mind that sought palatial matter of serenity, no longer knowing if I'm feigning to cover my own mediocrity; I now not know if I have experienced passion/love/despair/hate that was lost with the words of twisted poetry I ate written on papyrus that tasted of bitter blood in my mouth as I step into the first light of dawn that holds its doubts. III.(A pariah in triumph) My cursed eyes see only the images of a reluctant past; my fear is tangled with my despair that malice contrasts failing to see why I came to be with such impunity and turn unrecognizable, looking for light in immense vanity; I call in question which created me as an object of derision and think of myself as the pariah in the contemptuous horizon inscrutably venting the invitation of my spleen somewhere the night and the day meet another between; of death's welcoming eyes that has my spirit in cold charm, the maddening laughter and the symphony of malice in my palm; I suffer eternally by the force of my soul and its memories centering the infinity of decrepitude and its reveries.