Balding

Just one about hanging in the same place. Considered angsty if I wore thick rimmed specs.

Dirty dangling bulb serenades
the grim, sweaty walls
of a room stripped bare, abandoned.

Croons balladeering songs, each licked warble
peeling balding heart, each dried flake
reeling to gulch of stomach.

Flickering lit lyrics stealing
Dylan's Say Hello contradictions,
each fractional moment of dark
leads adjusted eye to opposing altered view.

Emotional inversions aside,
my grotty chamber a cocoon,
where part has died, leaving manure,
from which I shall bloom.