Jigsaw

They told him, with pride, to pick
up the broken pieces, instructing
him first which ones to let lie

Striven by a delusion to justify
failures; evidenced by illusory
jigsaws, their incomplete pictures

Putting together those remaining
pieces of his h-e-a-r-t and s-o-u-l,
has left him only another h-o-u-l

Where the sewage of draining
happiness streaks the urn with a
hypnotic flow of verisimilitude

While a choler gale whistles with
incredulity; an obdurate reminder
of eternal, inexorable solitude

art: untitled 36 by Peterio

Oblivion

Swallowing laments, coughing
up stained glass, her voice is
lost in the shattering barks
rending the silence in twain

Vitric dust settles in layers of
carmine remorse over bare feet
and choices wanting; painted
into a corner, and into oblivion

Ocular leadlights with cames of
tear, a cranberry gloss no longer
rose, reflecting life, her tormentor;
rolling eyes, leading to salvation

Her back against the wall, she
vanishes into the pale embrace of
waiting white, leaving behind only
footfall islands in a crystal sea

art: anesthesia by Peterio

His rose

The boy would stop to smell the rose

When he grew tall enough to reach

Abrading his nose upon a petal frayed

While he suffocated on the redolence

Rooted from his rafter for the dearest of life

Suspended by its thorny vine, the hanger hung

It was ever there, of his being a part, apart

No other flowerbed was so enticing

No other garden welcomed him so

art: gallow.. by Peterio

Whittle

Lip chewing

Making waves

Beneath heavy lids

Going down stares

Led by come hither fingers

Dripping darkness dares

To steel my clenched fist

Whittle flesh, make a man

Bereft of bone and sinew

Pedal and brimstone

Whet with gore and malice

Grinding shrapnel for dessert

Soaked in lies and afterthought

Napalm charring the bowel

Of a soul encrusted chalice

art: too late.. by Peterio