I lit the match.
The pungent acrid sulfur
Gouged my skin.
The acid-tongue
dragged across my eyes
dislodged, dislocated,
discouraged,
discontented,
decline.
As the flowers
the pictures,
the memories,
met oblivion head-on.
Time fractures
and the blood of my discourse,
seeps into my lungs,
with the smoke,
and ash,
of what I left behind.
Sugar sweetness turned bitter.
A cold,
contagious,
catalyst for
another cataclysmic
catastrophe.
Miasmic,
merciless,
morphine,
moves slowly over
my mind,
melting the memory.
Of what
I was,
We were.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is not bad. I have one suggestion for you on what jumped to my eyes the most: the capitalization. It's usually fine with me. Heck I capitalize everything. But in such a short-versed poem, capitals make it way too heavy. You should put them where they're necessary, where your thoughts start and end. And well there's also something missing in this poem, but can't quite put my finger on it. I'll probably come back later though to see what exactly. Thank you!
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