The Suicide of An Aggrandized Poet
The Suicide of An Aggrandized Poet ACT I A dusty, preposterous shelf lies among the objects of a time now lost, deep within the traces of a heart, pulsating sacrilegiously not to abandon what made it alas, why would it for it's flesh-made, an aberration but to awaken a reminiscence, so begins the tale of the unfathomable, Decimation of souls on a silver plate with a knife of a thousand ache, a fork with tine of a goat's hoof, and a spoon of a blind man's hand, the feast began. On an April day of a gloom rain, yet the rain brought us a wave of life, no? I went down a hill that left a stain to chain a soul of a swain to a wain that would reign the remarks of feigned months that I wore as a mane in sights plain. For a hollow coil, the world at my command, A sycophant, my heart, thrilled once at a bus station on a rainy April day. Days and months, predecessors of a fountain flooded red with passion and drowned of in...