Melodramatic Laughter

Has the night gone? O' where is poetry?
There are tendrils of despair in waters;
the saliva of broken dreams - slow sighs,
brand new verse strikes skulls as hysterical
behaviour slips wretchedness a wild kiss,
circumstance captures poverty's distress.
Scrape death from fear while bullets reveal tears,
green-brown-blue dead eyes collapse agony,
bleach me in tomorrow's caves of desire.

Deflower this murderous intent so
I may scream; enchanted flesh-phlegm, piercing -
blood and handwriting collect dirty stares,
washed in earth's melodramatic laughter,
counterfeit bravado loads another
moment into treacherous emotion,
massacre's perplexity, humanity,
and another venomous tormented
shriek festers in wounds of insanity.

The night is nearly complete, shattered life,
slaughter's dead body has yet to rise up
with the ghosts of repulsive war; arty,
scenes of a chaotic morality,
stab this violent complexity with love;
memories of other days, where eyes closed
in the afternoon's triviality,
and hollow narcissism gathers winks,
personality's blown to history.