Crematory

True evil can be romanticized.

It can be artistically transformed

into a forbidden love,

but I, oh no! I am not buying it.

I've always tried to use my fire

to know the threshold of my pain

and to warm and illuminate my way with its light.

[This is how I have survived.]

The flame has been extinguished,

and now I am left with anguish.

I gave up my skin

I gave up my dreams

I let down my defenses

I let you abuse all of my senses

I cried to the point of mania

I cut my fingers off

I lost touch with hope

I gave up my God.

[This is how I had to survive.]

I became a frail-ish female-ish skeleton

clanking around on insecure and unsteady bones,

longing and searching for where I had misplaced my flesh.

But I cannot forget

tracing the bone of your brow,

your displaced boy-ish smile

The way you used  to pet my hair when I rested in your arms,

or the eternal nights we shared in sweat.

For once there was a fire

in innocence, but no!

No longer shall this be.

For it is forbidden love that lights your fire,

and the only thing I have left is a fragile faith.