I lived in the rush to brush the dangerous, I ran right to the edge of love, hanging onto the illusion of you, the allure of a mirage in the expanding desert of prevarication.

This is the dangerous part-
When the dark shadows withdraw
To the deepest recesses of my mind
And I forget why I bid "adieu"
To you.

This is when the bruises
Fade.
The blood stains
Wash away.
The heart ache
Delays.

And the mirage begins.
The paradise pressed against my parchment skin
And dehydrated lips-
So tantalizingly sweet
So pure and pristine
As it slips down my callused throat
Though they say
arsenic tastes the same.

an illusion,
a superior mirage,
one that is complex and
unusual,
is often the most beautiful
of all.
complexity is stronger,
more beautiful and more powerful than you
because you're just
simple and ordinary,
nobody wants that,
nobody wants you.