The Debutante

The suckling piece of my soul
Is the aberration to the reality.
Filled with the ephemeral music
Of sorrow and love.
In the abyss of an erratic life
The ersatz moment comes to life.
Eulogies don't care for the exacerbated pain
Of the hollow soul.

The antagonized soul finds an analogy
An anachronism is what becomes of it
Life itself is amortized
Dreams blight the bruised eyes
As they grovel themselves in the shadow
Of their own light
Their pulchritude goes unnoticed
Like the subtle persuasion of a raconteur

Arbitrary heart beats yoke my soul to this body
Thoughts just profligate the burdened heart
The unscrupulous exponent of the exculpated silence
Ossifies my mortal inchoate self
The chaotic universe around me
Is verdant with cloying emotions
Of love, hate and abstinence
The débutante is born
But her soul is dead