At dusk, the beast prowls,
unbidden, through my bedroom
with a ravenous appetite.

Famished, he devours me
and drowns in my gore.

After the heartache,
you will learn that love is both
a blessing and a curse.

The boy that resides
in the hollow of my mind,

I gave him a name:

Morpheus.

You are just a fiend,
masquerading
as an angel.

And I am a Saint,
who is being mistaken
for the devil.

Loneliness clings to my gaunt frame,
like an invisible mourning veil
that threatens to smother me
in my slumber.

Your scent lingers
on my pale skin,
and when I inhale
I do not feel the
suffocating weight
of solitude.

I have built a nest in your heart,
made of down and daisies.

And you, in turn,
erected a temple
in mine.

Despite your
utter indifference,

I do hope that you
shall mourn my silence
when I succumb to
a broken heart.

She fades from your memory,
like weightless dandelion seeds
stolen
by a gust
of jealous wind.

And the next time you see her,
she is just another stranger
swimming
in a rough sea
of unfamiliar faces.