You never beheld the thing I became,
that night you withdrew to your curtained domain.
Only the cracks in the ceiling that bled,
only the chalice that shattered instead,
the wine like a river, a crimson rain,
the end of the night in silence and pain—
only the shadows could speak to your ear,
my voice was a whisper you refused to hear.
And you never saw the tears in the night,
the veil of the darkness concealed me from sight.
Alone with myself in a hollow domain,
as the castle of silence fell on my pain.
Its wings of stillness beat heavy, unheard,
like beasts in arenas that tear saints to dirt.
The chandeliers darkened, their brilliance withdrawn,
their crystal light broken, forever gone.
You never beheld the fire I became,
you pinched out that fire — a flickering flame.
You crushed my soul in your soul’s ashtray,
fed me the fate that you tossed away.
The verdict we forged turned rotten on our lips,
your misshapen creation you shattered to bits.
A teacher of ruin, you gnawed at my core,
and still you kept chewing and hungered for more.
You never beheld the thing I became,
the curtains fell shut, and the darkness laid claim.
And quietly, hidden behind their embrace,
you smothered yourself in that silent space.
Martyrs ignite in the closets they keep,
saints are torn apart where monuments weep.