She hadn’t meant for it to end this way.
The lust was too irresistible,
And the price was too high.
She just had to take the chance.
And just like that,
The damage was done.
It couldn’t be stopped...
Her world had disintegrated into pure nothingness.
She had lost the will to fight anymore.
Giving up on everything she held close.
This unkindly turn had depleted her reasons to live.
Her last attempt at deception had failed.
What a morose twist of fate...
No lie, however brilliant,
Could save her from what she had become.
Her intricate tales of deceit had woven a web of disaster.
And like a moth to the flame,
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)