Le Coeur Du Prince Mort

This poem

is for those who

- despite the blatant idiocy

of those five words

brought together in the title above,

for no good reason

other than

making the still unnamed audience swoon

in absurd emotion -

fall for it.

Speaking of falling…

When night falls

and I’m alone,

despair my only attender,

strange to all that is bliss,

strange to those who feel

happiness,

strange even to the fellow desperate,

abandoned by all hope,

like, totally forlorn and forsaken and desolate ‘n shit,

I can feel my heart die.

Drowned in sardonic tears

shed by the sable prince

who’s playing my heart’s strings

gloatingly in death.

Just kidding.

But if this confession

from the bottom of

a lonely poet’s woeful heart

won’t get him laid

by oafish goth chicks all over the place,

nothing will.

By the way, those who can name the redundant anaphora will be preferred.