grotesque

her love is a shadow of my own.
It only cloaks any light she can spare -

blown off, cast aside,
erased away,
i slowly lose what she can never replace.

I succumb to a thinner substance,
she complains about
the noise my heart makes while
i bleed out, worshipping at her feet.

I'll fake anything for a glance,
or a touch, a single breath
stolen in passing, a soft rape,
a needle to the base of the brain.

Whatever the state,
it 's pure Beauty to me -
a blinding light that only illuminates
my grotesque scars, and
empties the world into a terrible white -

only one who means everything
can make you feel like so much nothing.