Shattered Pictures

The history
of the  misery
of love
can
take
a
memory,
pound it...

insufferably
with massive
madness
like fists
meant
to
muddle
it
so
much so
in a
sparsely
mutated
n' densely
multilated
blind mist...

that
uncovering
a
past
scent
of perfumed
happiness
can
presist
to be
a mystery

if any
bliss
truly did
exist

Like an oasis
desperate to inhabit

or was it
simply deserted
by a ravaged soul
as the ache hurt
so bad
that the view
was just...

no longer crisp?