I suffered her stigma,
tiptoed over burning coals;
she conjured in the shadows
of boiling indecision,
ensuring unconditional infatuation,
she arched a prurient brow,
searching for a thought,
not a feeling.
None of what I dream
do I see of her in me.
I stumbled off the deep end
of a short rope of hope.
Her skeleton slipped
out of her closet,
knife upraised, charging
for the monster in my head.
Her secret is dead,
killing the part of me
that only she could fulfill.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2022 AC)

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