Dementia Poem by Hayley Lewis

My soul crushed,
Above and below irreputable dementure.
Solicited lies hounding at the door,
Tearing down the scafolding,
Ripping limb from limb the yards
Of blue hanging divide.

Yet, in walks my adam,
With jagged edges and winning smile.
Temptingly sat beyond my grasp
To harden my will,
Though sinful, and alarming
I discover that I would walk
Though fire for his eyes.

Upon reflection I cannot be
Victorious. Unless you let me
Phallic instrument, across your folded knees,
Strings of shapeless metal,
Digging into my ears
Bending my concentration
Away from the monotony.

And rigorous yet in my hourly denials,
Too quashed and broken to entertain
The unholy truth juxtaposed with reason.
Defining your tomb with lilies,
Be prepared for your storm to descend
And eat the decisions you wish you'd changed.

Still though, you feed on my soul
And break my line of thought.
With undeniable reluctance
You are pushed from me.
May the taciturn illustration
Of winter recreate in me
A sense of foreboding.

But bathe all those sorrows
In my longing arms.
And sleep with no mind to life,
For no recourse will be repaid
At least by my hand.
May fate, or sorrow,
Or desire push you here.