It is not paint that his lifeless creature wears. It is the make-up smears that animate its features. It scares me not consciously, but with a deep sticky dread hiding in the shadows of my mind. Its face parades in color and shade, in light and dark, but I know its face to be hollow. I know its fingers to be as the roots of a tree that feed on you at the slightest touch and you dare not let it ***** you love you or all you will know is hate. It withers down the soul of a man so that he will never love a woman; she will appear to be a siren and he will run in shame from his flaccid courage. It disembowels the soul of a woman until she thinks her entrails more impressive than any pecker; she stumbles around like a blunt fork never holding on to what she needs. It enrages the soul of a lover until he cannot bear to witness love endure without a scream. All the while, its hollow face feeds upon what glimmers in the sun and glows in the night, a vacuum never sated, never feeling peace's respite. I've kissed this face and I'll never kiss again, not until God and I can uproot the devil's sin.
I wrote this back in January of 2017 and discovered it while my girlfriend and I were reading old poetry notes to one another. We've both been hurt in love and both had dark poems to share. In reading this, I felt the weight of all the shame and fear I believe dwelled within me when I wrote this. It was refreshing to share this with her, as, indeed, I had not chosen to never kiss again. Whatever the devil's sin was, I now view my relationship with it differently. I've learned to forgive myself for whatever plagued me in the past. I know myself to have deep veins of emotion, with high ups and low lows, so all the better to keep the peace. Anyway, I hope you found something in this poem for yourself.