A Message

I trailed a hand on my bed linen

to soothe out the creases, all

baroque, produit of fretful nightmares

and art by aghast limbs which last night

were scouring for a life to hold onto.

And saturated in front of pier-glass

placed at one nook of my dilapidated cell , i glide

my phalanges across puddle of ephialtes

around my eyes , which were so gorgeous as Erebos himself carved them

with rapier of dead love .

Fervent to shudder the reflection in glass , I dragged the timber

chair which creaks now

whenever I perch on it . Just like

sonnets of liveliness do

whenever I lay the verses of my survival on them .

I unbolted the last drawer of my cupboard to grab the notepad to add more syllables of euthanasia in the epitaph of the boy who died in the same cell last year .