Behind dilapidated buildings
of a cold heart,
half constructed skyscrapers
of untold futures,
torrential storms of summers past
bouquets of dying yellow roses
now lay brown, untouched.
There are trellised streams of salty waters
formed on what once was a handsome face.
There, the soul of my deceitful self lay.
On a valley on top of a mountain,
In the worlds I created in that
honeycomb of a mind.
Messy networks of beautiful lies,
forgotten and now buried
in jars of black clay made of a magic
dark as the pupil of my eye.
Purple blood run through my veins,
the remnant of undisclosed secrets,
of undiscovered lives.
There are cracks on my lips that
even expensive lipstick does not cover.
Signs of the created past I told
with the smoke I breathe
out of the same mouth that tastes
only bitter blackberries.
Graffiti on the walls
of the last chamber of this soul.
I will one day return
to the beauty of unspoilt innocence
and unadulterated truth.