Thanatos IV - The Image of a Voluptuous, Blooming Flower.

Memories draped as if in exposition, silently floating
into the transient bedtime sky, illuminated of humble explosion.
Neon colours and pointed shapes - matter of transformation, bursts of what once mattered.
Such are the moments of present projected future:
Appreciative hopefuls and attentive remembrances,
Glittered and adorned photograph recollections;
Decayed videotape memoirs of newfound significance.
These are the unstable alternatives of a story so vague,
About a boy too reserved beside a man too bold.

I sit amongst these picturesque fire flowers
Pitch black if not for the fading sparks of forgotten presence,
Feebly relighting these ancient candles
Allowing the wax to drip like oil, setting flame to the darkness.
And I now lie between the black and rose, counting these delicate petals in my left hand.

Surging thorns tear at my skin, seer for my vision - begging in lullaby kisses.
Right hand of bleeding barb wound
Finding left: a battered bouquet.
My benevolence raptured in sanguine serenity.
Kissing the wreath, gazing into the image of an ideal,
The vermillion rage consumes the forgotten
Leaving me only to oblivion
And I watch him from the neutrality,
Laying swollen eyes to dream the dream.