Din of Decadence

I posed no questions

before my erroneous conception

I never asked to be or not to be

Serenading deserted streets with dirges

exploring absence in back alleys

reciting Ophelia’s soliloquy from memory

my words wasted in a world poisoned by apathy

Wearily I lay myself down

in the dust of desiccated dreams

whispering the single syllable

of your name so sweet

like black cherry bourbon and chocolate

hoping you might hear me

amid the din of decadence