In the blanketing abyss of night's prelude
no lamp subdues the dark within
but rather set a hazy stage:
lucidity's awakened hour

Dimly and diffuse you blur
through my drifting lines of sentience
reaping your cruel harvest, slyly
scattering my germinal love

How grim this fate that you have cast
upon my hopes so premature:
aborted at 3 weeks
more loss than I can take
enough for me to bury
enough for my resentment
burning unrealised:

fire of my nascent eyes
piercing through the false eclipse
scorching your covert disguise
the veil I long to rip apart
and disintegrate with verity,
to spit upon with love's acid froth
crude as every image of you
...
crude as dispossessed illusions

For I know you no longer,
and grasp for silent solace:
I can still turn the lights off by myself
by myself