A Gothic Blunder

A shrouded moon hides my nightmares not really of my own making, but they persist to cling to me, the memories a mirage lost like flotsam bobbing and tossing in mid-sea. His Pan-like charm lured me like a siren giving me a peek of sun into my dark caves His wit would put a smile into a stone idol and I was sucked headlong into his world only to find it a well of black a vacuum quieter than silent the silence vanishing backwards. My world is now painted in shades of grey a whirl of taunting, aching images. I am rolling a boulder endlessly uphill, reaching a mental precipice where I dangle dangerously on a broken bridge. The past has bestowed on me the gift of loneliness, happiness irretrievably lost - was it all a gothic blunder?