Brittle Bygones

There's a shadow that haunts my dreams.
His face shifts into masks, concealing the truth of my past.
I can feel you tangling my innocence, my fingers clutching and the tears burning;
Acid, wearing at my flesh, each one making its own hallow in the catacomb inside of me.
The love I once craved is now replaced with uncertainty and masochistic replenish.
What part of me is left untouched before I had even yet to learn of it's beauty?
I can feel the wrenching, gnawing, heaving; it's honey and cyanide, affliction and amity.

I fear that I could not {fear} when it was you I cried for.
Is my obsession the outcome of your exploitation or was it the void you left, thereafter?
Impossible snapshots, enslaving me, corrupting me, chasing me through corridors;
Indecisively pulling me into the corroded tunnels of long forgotten imagery.

I can not stop them from haunting.
I am the pesticide feeding off of your hungry flesh that lies heavily upon me.