Absent

Was one meant to feel love?
A question long eras and times with you could not answer-
One, I, cannot feel warmth and closeness;
It feels Cold, Distant, Unabashed, Blameful.
Yet it sure as Hell’s fire does not elude me!

Every touch of you turns my blood to ice-
Every kiss turns my brain to screaming-
Love is missing me-
I am Evasive, Lurid, the absence of a heart-

The ancients had love of blooming flowers;
Delicate rosettes on thriving ivy, conquering all-
The love I would exchange for else is withering;
Dying, Phobic in and of itself;
Running from me, lest you should not!

Every touch of you turns my heart to stone-
Every kiss turns my head to throbbing-
Love is missing me-
I am Death’s Hand, Love’s Scourge, the absence of a heart-

Death has no bearing to grant me leave of your constant intervention-
My slumber more than disturbed,
Ripped from me with Begging, Hounding, Useless Complaints!
My speech wouldn’t, could Never match my feelings-
Nor my body amass the strength required to fend off your blight-
You are the wound love has gouged,
A Deep, Cavernous abscess,
Born of an evil thorn-
You are the Unwanted, Scorned, Spurned-
Leave my presence, let me lie!
You choose no knowledge of death’s peace, nor love’s choosing;
Must you haunt the dead!?