Look inside of me...my cells may bruise the death to the skies

It's the thought that the death could swim within my veins,
my cells, consisting of anxiety, of doubts, surreptitious
it decomposes me inside, decay of lust detains,
obsequious to my reason, won't hurt - uncertain illness.

So, after all, my thoughts won't flee, don't go on departure,
my love for her, it keeps me waiting for the day,
slowly falling into sleep, into dreams of awful torture:
want to be close to her, to hold her; an eclipse essay.

Covering me, my world, shrouding it in shadows,
after stars gone blind, after candles burning low,
bad tasting tongue, my chest - dead meadows;
I feel the loneliness, when she touches me : own foe.

So much love I have to give, can't give, won't hurt,
just a word, a chance of cancer : unwillingly absurd.