Grotesque Pulchritude

O Romeo, Romeo

Beauty was never a paraphernalia, Romeo
It was but a gift God bestowed upon His most cherished
So, then your Angel would be God's blessed and chosen one?
Why else would He endow your Angel with a pulchritude so exquisite, that the beauty of conscious and inanimate beings alike shamed in comparison?

O Romeo, Romeo, how we envy your naivety
Your ignorance of the world's Apollyons
The fabricators of veracity
The very beings who have but painted the world in their morbid hues of morality
Who can inculpate them?
At some point, demolition of the very thing the world peculated becomes a source of solace

O Romeo, how foolish you were!
Capitulating the moment you thought she sanctified your eyes with her winsome presence
Utterly beguiled by how the stars frolicked within her sclera
Enraptured by the alluring angle in which the moon's emulous luminescence accentuated her celestial features
Thus, you knew is was but quintessential to proffer the prospect of marriage the next day

O Romeo, how leisurely and indulgently, you stroll alongside your Angel in the Garths of Eden
Letting your eye wander as the auburn ringlets of her hair pirouetted to the tune of the wind's pulse

The midnight zephyr — a malefic needle, who interweaved the world into but a palpable mirage
The pulchritude of your Angel — a Machiavellian spinning frame, gilding the morbid the nuances of the world in the very ichor of you Angel's heart
The sanguine that dropped from the putrid, maroon vessels — a grotesque yarn the zephyr utilised in his tapestry of deception and the ramification of all the hearts your Angel lacerated
The ichor of your Angel - a sanctified pigment used to guild and enshroud any unworthy and macabre being, inclusive of the world
The Earth — corporeal tapestry, the aftermath of the melding of duplicity with Mother Nature

O Romeo, Romeo
At the alter you stand,
Hand grasped in hand,
Fingers intertwined in fingers,
The cleric standing prior to you and your Angel,
As she whispered  solicitous yet vacant vows
Honing them into lanceolate scalpels — solely
designed to lacerate your tympanic membrane

O Romeo, Romeo
How unconsciously impotent you stand
Your — feet manacled by the chains of her fallacious love ,
Your eyes — blinded by the vividness of fabricated pulchritude,
Your mouth — embroidered shut by the very cadavers that lie in her wake
The morning wind — A Samaritan sent by God Almighty  himself, to liberate you from the captivity of your Abbadon

O Romeo, Romeo
How bewilderedly you watched as the morning zephyr compresses its way through the pad-locked door, Effaced the ivory mantilla from your Angel's face,
And revealed the veracious hideosity which had been concealed in blatant sight

O Romeo, Romeo!
Can you believe?
Her beauty has evanesced and the whole world can see!
O! Hear how the gasp at the sight of her putrid skin, fissured lips, and jaundiced sclera
O! Notice how the sanguine drips from the crevasses in her epidermis
O! See you rot on her teeth wades its way to her lips, plaguing both everything in its path and the viewers its sight

O Romeo, Romeo
If only you hadn't been so dim-witted at genesis to realise — pulchritude is seldom a gift bestowed by God
Akin to the disposition of power, either you seize it at its inception
Or it eludes you till the culminating note of your life