Deliberate Irregularity

The most beautiful are the most wretched,
Souls twisted around dark fingers,
Dreams melded into nightmares,
By the black wish’s torch,
Your face scorched,
But you don’t feel pain anywhere,
Though your hand, on your cheek, lingers,
Those scars painted thickly, so beautiful, so wretched.

Endless scores of tattered pages, crooked in your neck,
Stuck in the crook of your broken wrist-bone,
That old wishbone unhinging on your wall,
Deliberately irregularly,
Irregularly deliberate in it’s delivery,
Of your bygone wishes, night-dreams and all,
Your poetry of thoughts untouched, flowing unhoned,
Known to be the best when unhinged, neck crooked, a wreck.

Unyielding to the perfection the world wishes upon you,
Your frame unravels, no painted picture fits just right,
Tendrils and spirals too deliberately chaotic,
Fingers of paint can’t reach inside,
Won’t abide.
Swirls loop turning the sane psychotic,
Nothing will stop you in your imperfect perfect plight,
You, unyielding to the perfection, correction the world wishes upon,

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