Cursed with such a countenance—

scars and ruptured skin, a lipless mouth, an absence of a nose,

golden eyes perceptible only when benighted—

Made to conceal the horror under a mask—

a scrap of silk to shield the human eye from such affliction,

I fled to the shadows,

Escaping the world and its corruption, its cruelty, its condemnation.

And yet, the cellar is not safe.

My safe haven, my territory of dark impassivity, has been invaded,

My once lethargic heart abruptly awakened

in an enchantment of sweet sapphire eyes, lustrous dark curls,

and a celestial soprano voice.

I am obsessed, enraptured, enslaved.

I am drowning in a sorrowed sea of unreciprocated love.

She fears me—

She sees beyond the face and still is repulsed;

the inner is as mangled as the outer.

She doesn't know how to love me.

She takes shelter in the arms of another;

his pure, unequivocal candor draws her away

from the unfathomable darkness that I am.

She won't come back to me.

My heart, soul, and spirit are broken,

shattered by the very force that brought them to life;

feelings are aroused only to be assaulted.

Again I retreat into darkness,

the sting of rejection renewed and intensified.

I've plunged deeper into hell--

the flames of my distress consume me,

misery pangs me with every breath I take.

The mantric legends prove false.

People who don't need people are the luckiest people in the world;

It is better never to have loved at all.