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.
Enjoy!
DEW
