Scents injected overwhelm these vestiges,
And words ensnare the dying mind
With an invitation of the deepest plunge
And the thrill of complete destruction.
His friends hold him too high in regard.
He’s just an imposter with tailored trousers and a bleached shirt.
Treading on the sheet of ice
And staring into the eyes of the black chasm,
I have all but forgotten his existence.
Dark are the intentions and darker still are the desires.
Floating softly as a wisp of virgin cotton
Sharply ripped by wind and lightning.
Eager as the viper seeking prey
Gasping for air after tasting the scents.
I am rid of him,
And gladly so.
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