The Mark is 233
December 19, 2011
Once upon a time, I urged you to await my mischievous rhyme,
Caution to the wise, my word is real and by it I shall always abide,
So today I spew my wretched verses, now that redemption is mine
Your name remains anonymous, your spirit no longer at my side.
The mark of the beast is 6-6-6, but on this auspicious night the mark is 233
A time of blissful indulgence, a pitch-dark night without a star-lit portrait
Rather than damn me for eternity, you cast me from limbo and set me free.
Sleepless nights soaked in agony, they wither away at the scent of your hair
An enchanting fume, a smog of toxin, a stealthy, silent killer with no remorse
Tossing and turning, panting and sighing, we catapult towards imminent despair.
One hand grabs firmly, the other loosely, a wretched dream has run its course
With a half-packed suitcase in each hand, you bid farewell with the most stoic stare
Calmly and unfazed, I control the tremor and open the door you did not use to enter
She tries to look back for one final picture, but I shut the door and avoid the snare
Her face is an apparition, devoid of all reality, but the thick wrinkles in every smile
The slant of her eyes, windows of her soul, are second only to the slant of her guile
But in memory of my innocence, I will forgive, and not allow her lies to further defile
Today I bury the haunted memories of room 233
