White Room

In the white room with black curtains

beyond which lies only peripheral oblivion

I'm under my own thumb speculating this

ivory prison chamber, 

my introspective Dalìan scape.

And it's all quite comfortably strange

the phials burning my eyes 

from the walls 

a hedonist's jewels, whispering sweet 

nothings across the void between.

They've locked the door too and good: now

the game's mine, a most selfish luxury upon which I can now freely and privately

indulge.

Who else could deny themselves that one last hit:

since I'm told want is the crime? 

When they let me loose to wander lone they said

that I should, but that I wouldn't

do the things to make me greater.

Instead I'd do exactly what I shouldn't and grasp the prize 

they'd lain before me on a starkly gleaming platter.

Perhaps the gulls still pray outside

the lychgate to my crypt. Will they 

draw the warden's portière to peek

inside the crystalline?

Observe.

My forty days and forty 

nights, inverse: 

this vice hollow yet fulfilled. 

And but a touch by wizened hand

to be mine; I yours.

It tastes! A drop, a drop

amidst the veins and brains to nullify 

like the white across the walls, bleached

poisoned liquor soaking

the soul.

Dizzied, romanced, hungered inebriation -

my parasite crawls on three; she spawns

deliciously

in every shrinking, 

shrunken fibre.

Gossamer wings these 

purest plumes erupt from blades,

yawning over sparrowed 

limbs. The elixir

has borne my flight!

Now sink in stones into the skies, above

all mortal requisite.

Below the tides of many years,

escaped so soon, 

in spite.

This vernal blossom sheds its skins

as dulcet venom shrives 

throughout. 

Though not yet grown to petalline prime 

I'm the ripest babe. 

Woe to the bone for surrender

to sin: did I injure

thee at my expense? 

Forgive the grief - my feathered feet

engraved your earth.

Slave's exodus, my fettered wrists

slip the ravaging chains.

Free! - embark to transcend upon

a crest of 

my nirvana.

No love lost for 

my little husk; these palisades

have grown too cold.

Never shall I covet

such a wintry, wretched dream. 

But regret is spared 

for the keepers, who yearned to preserve

their captive. I entrust my space

with regards, and faith

to suffice another. 

Judas place a parting kiss 

upon my tinctured cherried lips,

and seal with a tear

for the one you caused to 

steal away. 

How could one remain?

Forgo eternal bliss for this:

here I'll only lie

in the dark where the shadows run 

from themselves.