Unwanted and Ignored

Sift the soul through ideation
to extract its lemon hue.
Then she adds it to a light emulsion,
and wears my depression on her face.

My body fell. My conscience followed.
Both stumbled in cavern echo
to a cavern end
of nowhere but a blackness cove.

There is nothing that succeeds my obsession.
There is no higher sky.

But the mascara from my heart is blue
finger paint from an open atrium on her bathroom sink dug into.

I am weak,
but on a girl as lovely on a debut entrance to
a Wuthering Heights,
my skin: “I Can’t Believe it’s Not Leather”,
square-cut by a hanging fingernail,
looks nice.