We are late-bloomers, vials of acid, you say.
Is that why I am always withering away?
Someday I shall be immune given that I have been toxic for so long.
When will I be pure? I am tired of waiting.
Soiled so long I am quickly degrading.

Call this the melodrama of dreams.
Why I am here and you are over there.
So long ago it seems that I am eroding.
I shall forget though not soon enough
for a wishing well of dreams borders a graveyard.

How long ago I sat upon the edge of this
stone monument of rain, contemplating
the length of my shadow fallen into oblivion’s
underground flow. My face, moss-covered awaiting my crime
in waves of love burying my smile. And so I confess

I kissed a girl who loved me. A spider in its desecrated maze.
It was not a first love, but a dare.
Like a tomb it clung to me until I disregarded it
by delving deep inside her cavernous mouth
with dreams deepening into a place far from the sun

where only the strangest flowers grow.
Those bridal-peeked daisies of long ago
with their deaths in soil, their soily deaths.
Sinking as I wish for a return to where no life awaits me.
And where no awaiting involves this soiled life.