jag harps

There’s a heart pulsing.
The final notes,
Echoing an empty cage,
Last rites, preached
To the sorrowful
And sordid,
The last sin for that
Ticket to hell.
The way down is overbooked,
But up’s a vacant flight.

Mind’s pacing,
The screeching Discordia
Harping a jagged cacophony
Order Ad Anarchy
Again and again,
A Spiraling descent to
Thoughts forgotten and untouched.

Memories fill lungs,
A throttled kiss, swaddling,
Squealing tongue.
The silence is sharp,
A hollow prelude
Ushering the
Deathly sound of
A greater nothing.

—  ~ deAngelo // before death.