A Nothing

with the apocalypse, I’ll rise with blackness
turning it all into a camera obscura of afterlives
circles and knives are thrown down chutes to the devils

I told them how it would end, but my warnings
were pushed under the beds of molested children
and into the bras of transformed hookers, with their Gin

there was nothing I could say to the crying crows
they had lived – unlike I had. discarded lenses of cross
shaped apertures hung in the air like silence;

and like him a creature suffocating in my heart.
with your Gods  and faith how do you reason? how do you sleep?
hold me to your vinyl’s; kiss me into my folds of skin

sometimes I dance, erratically, without seduction
to the chimes of churches and the screams of exorcisms
I am deaf to your happiness and blind to your vibrations

how do you want me? with my lies and fear. I am an illness –
the definition of loss. I don’t love you, I cannot,
you are good, and I, I am eyes without a purpose.