Slave to cosmetic surgery.

Shouldn’t you be haunting these rites of crypts 

as i buried you in permafrost six feet thick 

With coffee serving hypnotists offering 

Guides to beachside trysts and therapy

amongst many faithful friends that now 

surrounded you showing you their 

dirty paws Lead the dance away 

Asking if the palms couldn’t be read again 

As they’re were distracted counting 

The loss of a silver thread whilst

Joining the sing along with hounds 

abound the rooted and round table 

serenading the underworld 

with sonnets Of bonvoyage Rung 

on the Belle Of barring time 

their collars shorn On rocks 

Of black horse fabled esteem 

trying too erase past the post 



The prison jokes with handcuffs 

of rosarys carved from Trojans 

Inviting those that chose too view 

citadels from cementrys 

And loose leaf moral dilemma’s.

Frozen like those cosmetic 

Addiction faces