Nonsensical Travail Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

</>In nights of my cumbersome body,
I flabbergast the walls with
Monologues such as,
“Tomorrow shall be,
Another bent memory,
Shall I behest the powers that be,
Behind every whimpering soliloquy? ”
Everything is lost,
And never redeemed –
Oh, to weep silently,
To ache vociferously, as if a tangle
Of vines and a succession of chains
Are even worth the dangle –
I dwindle as the mirth in my eyes tarnish,
I am besmirched as the walls
Spew putrid breath upon me
As the gliding bats laugh at me,
Their ears propped up in the night’s jaundice.
There’s a revelry in my room
That I held – and these drunken shadows,
They contemplate upon death and dynamism
Whilst I quaver upon their chauvinism,
There is no cure in every ail
Because when the vessels set sail,
And the tides cease to fail,
Under the mornings that are stale,
Trust me, everything is a nonsensical travail.