Fin.

The beginning, nothing more.
I can hold a candle up
to a rose, though it does not
reflect from tarnished petals
what I would have liked it to.
Connotative words felt the absence
of abstractions, making me
the beautiful enemy. This etched
in stone my curse; it left my self
control stretched out to bleach
in Florida sunshine. This is the scratching
of dull claws on black tar. Useless.
Flamelit torches may start a heart
beating but that ugly blade
made mine bleed.
This memory couldn't last forever,
fleeting as fleeing jailbait.
Druglike hallucinations seemed to
fade with time, my withdrawals
long gone to past woes. Your light
has flickered with subsequent storms;
you were my first natural disaster.

This time, it's the truth.
So if I'm not real,
neither are you anymore.