darkness and blur

if you really must know
it aches in a way I’ve yet to wrap a proper word around
strangling me in the darkest hour
lifting me up just high enough for the excruciating stab
of pain as I land

the tears are irrelevant
mainly for show — the expected outcome of
my public humiliation with my mistress heart;
the tendril of some unnamed sadness
i long to cauterize at the root

this shame mocks me as I sleep
in the shower, when I walk down streets
with no names and a mass of empty faces that give nothing away
as if this is only remnants of a hopeless dream
exhausted by the light

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