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Literature Text
A Bedlam for my Desultory Desideratum
Perfectly contorted hands,
trace fingers down my chest.
They draw a trail of blood,
on my canvas of skin and flesh.
How? I buried her in heaven,
with the rest of those,
my despotically disposed.
She's screaming like a banshee,
serenading like an angel,
it's a ballad of love or hate,
lost deep in her hymnal.
Merciful torture,
entangled throes of love.
My desideratum,
the creation thereof.
Perfectly contorted hands,
trace fingers down my chest.
They draw a trail of blood,
on my canvas of skin and flesh.
How? I buried her in heaven,
with the rest of those,
my despotically disposed.
She's screaming like a banshee,
serenading like an angel,
it's a ballad of love or hate,
lost deep in her hymnal.
Merciful torture,
entangled throes of love.
My desideratum,
the creation thereof.
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This is the 5th and final revision of this poem, hope you like it. I decided I wanted it to be my best before I even started it
© 2006 - 2024 FierceDeity2
Comments7
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Well fie on him. I like it! It brings to mind very epic images. I like your word choices too.
*tips his hat*
*tips his hat*