my skin rejects a well-know touch
for fear of an eluding sight
that seems to grow from spring to fall
like moths upon the hollow
cursed day and cursed hour,
why should I carry the poisonous flower
upon my barren chest?
am I the forgotten victim
or the pleasant executioner?
perish sound and blind all colors,
this is what the world deserves for being
so abruptly shallow!
vain is life and her damned lovers
twirl around an icy fire
that exhales solely nightmares
in the shape of redemption's
my body fears affection and hope
because all past saviors have left
scars with their slender fingers
and nails of scented
come the end and come revelation,
I'll be here forever,
whether in sand or in paper.