It is your joy I wear as my own veil of pain.
You the siren keep calling me back to grief and violence.
My blood and bruises are an expression.
love makes a fool of us all in time.
I cannot take from you what you took from me.
My brain tricked my heart into believing it was strong and could endure and overcome, but that’s not true, all that remains now is the violence turned in on myself.
No longer the rope and knives used together in love, now they are the punisher’s gift visited from my own black, dead heart.
Despite this I keep searching for a beauty, a beauty now disappeared.
a beauty that was never there.
The only thing queer here was that I believed, I was tricked.
I craved the flowers.