When he fucked me, I saw God.

My mood is

indescribable.

A downspout of

misguided

rain freezing

overnight.

A complicated

mountain fold,

its peak

sheltered

by sensitivity

and fog.

Its hardened

crust evaporating

into

sadness.

My desolation

comforted

by his imagery

and love.

Pain is

romanticized

inside

my mind.

Literary connections

found

in pulsating

isolation.

Love me

back.

I am

disconnected

from the norm.

Relieving cuts

pour

blood onto

canvas.

Empty.

I offer

definition

unintelligibly through

matte abstraction.

I am

complexly

overwhelmed by

simple movement.

My mascara

smears like—

A whore.

My legs

spread

wide,

knees bent,

my aged hips

crack with

temporary

satiation.

Heavy

sighs are

my aphrodisiac

into

oblivion.

The warmth

of

the sun

on my face

is my

mother.

Nature

hugs me

with

its splintered

bark.

Gasping

with emotion,

the thought

of him

hurts.

Moved

to tears

when

Mozart's plays

tangible.

A grin

too wide and

too toothy

silently churns.

My stomach hurts

to the tone of

laughing

like a clown.

Names

spelled wrong

hang on

the air

make

me dizzy.

Contradicting

comfort found

in

metaphors

and equation

abandon me

ad infinitum.

Abhorrent

shock at

mass blindness

ruminates.

Raw.

Despair drops

into buckets

of mud

in my chest

when

I think

of you.

Despondency

covers

my shoulders,

my grandmother's

shawl,

when

the chill

of

loneliness comes.

Inner epiphanies

debate

over desire

and

reality.

I stand

still and

frozen in

my existential

existence.

I know

my bravery

exists

but I am

fucked

between

folded linen.

Stale.

And

the closet

is closed.

And my

heart

drops.

There is

no point

anymore.

I am sad

and

I am

grieving

indefinitely.

You are gone.

It is dark