Kaiden Blake

Lately vision has been spare
If not for this lattice screen
To savor excuses for visibility
For the imaginary friend
That won't be there

From eyes, to the keys from
Which you use to type
Guilty, too, in this modern
Age -- factoring: After all,
Hotels do let you go

From designer candles, to
Carnations that burn; Dying
Is an illusion, expiring slowly
Like wine fermenting, if only
Occupied by the ability to yearn

Hands reaching from the walls
Bouquets that leave lasting
Impressions: Lead to depressions
If not on shelves, to cells that
Squirm from the varying void