Heart dropping.  Flesh darkening.  Flames sparking
in the hollow holes of my shattered heart, brutal
scars surfacing my broken body, falling beneath
the foggy and empty skies of unwritten goodbyes
and harmful diction ripping my existence apart
as I fought for recognition in a hazardous
and unrhythmic world.  They did not love me
because I was a gay man born from a different
dimension, somewhere beyond their time,
somewhere in rotten and dried-up lands,
a sickening soul with no wings and dreams,
no serene beginnings or endings, an unmoving
star and moon vanishing away with no magic
to light up the world ever again.  They poured
toxic chemicals all over my sizzling skin
to cleanse the gayness from me, held a sharp,
large knife at my throat, carving the disturbing
letters, “You are a filthy disgrace to this universe.”
And as the tears ran down my pastel face, the pain
becoming a monstrous song rumbling through
my lungs, razor-edged nouns and pronouns
struck with thunder, lightning rods skyrocketing
towards the crazed caves of my esophagus.  
There was no reason for living, no season for
winning, no oxygen for breathing, no love
to rescue me from this mugshot moment.
They considered me an outcast, a disgusting
******, a rusted corpse divorced, torn, worn out,
bleeding inside and out, waiting to die at any
given time.