Ate

Tumbling down into this compact,

Tidy, curved space

 

Each resounding bang

Withers. Me.

 

Intersecting significances are merely common

Due to withdrawing this unknown need

Ordinarily tied to itself

Usually left to its own disgrace

 

Words sewn to unhappy thoughts

Dispersing themselves to lost places

Each futile grab for these inked moths

Dying, staining, leaving nothing but marks

 

Blackening clouds only hide

The sun’s lying teeth

No light will ever compete with

Passion

Devoured. You.

Author's Note

It's rough due to clashing emotions and a lost sense of style, on my part.
I'll find it eventually.