Decent Coverups
When I fell in love
I fell not for beauty
But for a persona
That rattled my grit
Into demogorgons
I couldn't fight
And hence I built
I built a temple
of words and poetry
For my mistress
With a tale to tell
No less a history
I worshipped the demigod
Both in flesh and soul
Built her dreams
Out of sweat and blood
And of care and love
I built her dreams
Ones without her
I saw no more
I built her dreams
Ones without her
I wanted no more
She was no god
No demigod either
There are no gods.
Goddesses neither.
Unless she is one
I still don't know.
We faltered.
And I fell deeper in love.
We broke.
And I fell even deeper in love.
We patched.
And I fell in love.
And, deeper yet again.
It took layers
Of craft and care
To rebuild and rework
Scars once left
wide open and bare
With time, they say you heal
If only, not absolutely
And perfectly imperfect
Threadbare coverups.
What they don't tell you
Is
That with time,
You don't heal
You only stich
You only glue
Over again
And anew
Layers
And
Layers
All patched,
In strips of
Band-aid
Strips of
Sickly Pale,
Tipsy red and blue.
Until you can band-aid no more
Until any more is a little too more
Until any less is a little too less
Until any of you is you no more.
Until you want,
to heal no more.
You live
To grow into a demon
She wants no more
There's that thing
About last visits
And good poetry.
They leave
Brazen, cut and bare
Right in the middle
Of absolute nowhere
Incomplete.
And traumatizingly Implicit.
It makes you imbecile
And Vulnerable
All at the very same time.
The more you reason
The more you lose
Until there's nothing more
left to lose.
And then you resort to greed
Of panicky mediocrity
Of "things" you want to lose no more
Some"thing" of which you have none
some"thing" of which you never had none
You hunger for lust
And the ledgers of love's labour lost
You fall in love again
With hate
With Anger
And with Angst
All, and more
Until your hate
makes you all human
And patch and patch and patch
Until you can no more.
