Mo(u)rning

One narcissistic, yet beautiful obsession with the ultimate confession. The laying of souls, thick with grief, all bearing their sins of syrupy despair. Of how they yearned to connect, but failed. How each day, defective of hope, they perished on rising with the sun. How they chose mourning instead.

Without a title

Something I wrote a few months ago. Just been looking through my old files etc trying to put things into some sort of order and stumbled on this.
Bleak lucidity
Glaringly awake. Aware of
That delusive future hidden.
Décor: flimsy, flowery, paper words
Flirting with obliquity.
Those vacant days and empty dreaming.
Abstruse thought, obscure feeling
Murky senses of drowning in time.
Suppressive;
Successive,
Despondent greying [...]