His lips quavered at the edges,
Cloaked in sepulchral balm
And tumescent tones.
Subcutaneous calamity seeps through dusty pores in
Achromatic skin ridden with dents
And crevices, in which I stored secrets that would have made you gasp.
Cold kaleidoscopic eyes,
Bore into me, Tuesdays and Wednesdays,
Prompt with taradiddle,
Histrionic in his soliloquies.
He despises me already,
I remember not why when I scurried and worried for years.
Voracious for what was left
Of his intellect.
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