O’ martyrdom <br />Sequestered in obsolescent forms, shapes, dimensions, <br />Vectors in hurt and ghost and germ <br />The sweet jasmine of her kiss leaks from the bowls of my neurological receptors <br />Until they tire, growing wearisome in their monotony <br />I hate the succubae that squander their masks and exchange vials of disease and emotional famine, <br />Reckless in their mute pagan debauchery, <br />They scoff and pirouette like harlots caught in the thick cytoplast of their own pestilent mutiny <br />They have jettisoned our phylum into the recesses of social lobotomy <br />Reaching for the inevitable touch of a true soul to acquire homeostasis <br />Is this a conspiracy theory? <br />You ask <br />Is this some pseudo-psychological shaman song that I’ve conjured from the incongruent babble that is absolute truth? <br />No <br />It is simply the Visine in the swollen dismembered blind eyes <br />Red with stimuli and green with gluttony <br />Healing the raw, tender capillaries that have frozen from limpness <br />And lack of love <br />You may have the beauty <br />O’ daughters of valkyarie <br />But you haven’t the answers<br /><br />luke holt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/daughters-of-the-valkyarie/
