She was a numinous beauty
of eclectic ideals,
body tall and slender,
skin pale and smooth.
She was……
My work of art
She was everything
a fool could want for
but She was hard
and unfeeling
her body marble cold
She was held
aloft, aloof
from this world
Her eyes vacuous,
vapid, and gray.
But I liked her that way
She was My perfect perfidy,
My big ******* to the gods
She made me a faithless man
as I lost sight of all but her

The world is made of crisp clear lines.
It’s nice when things are clear and clean, but
Sometimes the lights brighten and the lines grow sharp.
Sharp enough to cut.
When the world is made of sharp and bright lines,
Things start to hurt.
Everything is too loud.
It’s not crisp or clear because everyone is talking
And it hurts.
My head feels fuzzy and the lights are still too bright.
When everything is sharp and fuzzy and loud and bad,
I take off my glasses.
It doesn’t stop the lights from glaring,
Or the people from talking,
But it makes the lines a bit less sharp.