There was integrity in betrayal,
a certain dark that could not be
forbidden,
for this night child leaned on
charcoal rays and shadowed ceilings.
She gave you vulnerability.
It was final.
You would not walk alone.
There would always be
an immured conclusion
that she would guide you.
Detail transforms while sapphire
clouds the rims of your retina
and even forest life is endorsing
theft....can all your emotions
dissipate? Where does the ink
run to when your ashes
start to sting?
You become myst-
bleeding atop already charred
leaves that crackle.
Cold wind materializes.
No one will look twice
at your engraved scars,
for you have no body-
this timberland captures the
end to it's fantasy,
and all she read aloud
for you were mirages of
feigned innocence.