LTWR8B Poem 3

After editing my poems for a few days straight, which by the way is very emotionally straining and intense, I decided instead of having the page on my blog, I would put up a series of entries that shows the original poem and the final revised version I turned in. I would like to say that I no longer feel this way about said person and that we are on civil, almost friendly terms with each other after a lot of communication and a lot of time. I just added the name at the end of the poem to make it more interesting.

To Blake: If Only I’d Known

Things are really never as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are the dark, deluded depths
Of an oil tanker truck, filled with
Murky disgrace.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor, beating
Me mercilessly over the head as he
Laughs and laughs a menacing
Awkward squalor.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, running
From the light and doting to the dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse,
Enduring when all just simply
Want you dead.

To Mr. B. Schack: If Only I’d Known

Things are never really as they seem.

My eyes are stars, you say?
Your eyes are black holes,
Empty voids of nothingness—
Vacuums where I cannot last.

My smile is captivating, you say?
Your smile is my captor,
My torturer, my executioner, my end—
Violent, merciless, menacing, breaking
Bones and hearts.

My love is divine, you say?
Your love is a cockroach, fleeing
From the Light and doting on the Dark,
Surviving squashings and apocalypse—
Enduring, when all just simply
Want you dead.