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It’s the sort of beauty you don’t survive.

stabs you in kindness,
detailing blindness etched
across a hopelessly vaulted mind.

………………

It will break you.

life as death as
transformational inquest
lessening illusions of
leniency but don’t forget
/fret/
laugh like you aren’t dancing
on the thinnest crust of dust dregs
daring those tears to come with
mud,
collapse;
cold lapse-
impatient taps echoing in your empty room,
all the furniture has been moved once again
except your mind reminding
at a stalled refresh rate-

steadily forming a definition for ‘fate’
making sweet, blood soaked love
to the beauty that destroys you.