hedonistic melancholia

So now, In the aftermath of heartbreak
I lounge, engaged in activities
of suitible morbidity for the broken-hearted
hemlock-verses of moribund Keats
And the wild acid scrawl of the west
Beating down, down like thunder on the mind
Of a heart, broken bloody, and needing the rest

Brooding on a bitter, bacchic theme, adrift
On a sea of somnolent sorrows, in this
hedonistic melancholia, drowned in a lexicon
Of sad Catullus, and maddened Sappho
Seeking my own words, and the comforts of those
My angels who came before me. Lament the dream,
my verbose siblings, I drink your self-same
bitter losses.

And under trees of Arcady I soflty lie
Holding close the ruby wine, distilled liquor
From the fruits of Proserpine, admixed with
night-black lethe water, I will drink
And sleep, and forget and dream, comforted
by the endless chorale of Psyche's chosen nymphs.