Living Horrors

Do not shower me with your adulations;
They are acrimony to mine ears.
Your effete efforts to boost my ego
Only serve as japes to remind me of what I am in your eyes:
Nothing real
Nothing worth giving yourself to,
Only a caste to fill with catastrophe and dejection.

Were I robbed of innocence—
Debauchery transmuting your living horrors
And unscrupulous scandal—
Would you have me then?
Hollow are the words I speak
To the conformation of your solace,
Elsewise you would have me mute,
For the truth is a dagger to your ears.

I am your dutiful mannequin;
Project the terrors of your existence onto me,
Won’t you?
Plastic and armless I am,
With no defense but a look and impassivity:
Your wondrous work of art.

Blind you would have me
To the iniquity of your darkest hours,
To shield me from the sin I know too much of,
Or to eschew a judging eye?
But I know all, like an oracle of tragedy,
Each omission from your darkest hours;
And an eye doth I possess, to see all,
Even that which shames you the most.

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