Pain is Beauty

As she twists within, Consuming our minds with fear and loathing, And when we lose a petal each day because of her, We forget. For every time I have wept beneath the terrors of past events, Under the shadows of his hand and my still youthful eyes, It was pain that I feared, And yet I had forgotten why she was there. She just happened to be. Yet again, the times I clenched my body together In the hourless nights, whispering to myself The sweet nothings of soothing secrets, I was harking her away, the jealousy, I had lost too much. All this time not registering her for what she was. And when I lay on the mattress of blue, In that god forsaken paper white gown, Unpleasantly exposed and convulsing, time and time again She spears my body with the force of a butcher. And I despise her even now as she has driven me mad. But I have grown into the dance she tugs us into, As her knife as smoothed off my jagged edges, Though I sob into her shoulder as we speak, I have realised how in love I am with her. As she is all of us. She is my reminiscence of my old and future self. All of which I own in the now I hold onto tighter, As her predatory gaze lays upon it, And it reminds me of what I have. She only appears when I have something to lose And does that not make me so utterly human? So as she twirls me, and tears shed once again, I remember that I am something, someone, And so is she, and as we grow older, and I will fall for her over and over.