Notions Pluck Suicide

The spirit is flicked by screaming angels
as wild comfort slips from a dead-eyed look,
nature's beauty has faded into grey
for I own it all yet there's nothing here,
my heart's soft rhythmic adventure is numb.

Tattered shrugs count time's personality
traits while I seek out God's blossomed character,
hookers pry my demons from silent streams
as alcohol trickles from flared nostrils,
nothing matters except absolution.

There are gardens of twisted white roses
that perfume my agony's fine-tuned sighs,
fields of wishful notions pluck suicide
from the dreams which cripple my bitter life,
love's a broken toy I paid for with greed.

Turquoise hallucinations follow me
as I indulge in frenzied cocktail scenes,
but it's all misguided, irrelevant,
for I've a thousand ghost stories haunting
the day's long stretch of imagination.