Penny for a Poem

Slow Plague

You are death's plague and I, your helpless victim, left to ponder this insidious affliction shall it be a slow burn, your toxins turning traitors?
Or a sudden strike, your venom's ruthless raiders?
A gradual demise, each moment marring more deteriorating from your love's decay, to the core.
Watching as the luminance of my soul dims, becoming eclipsed by your tenebrous whims. You would sap me of vibrancy, day by wearying day, until I wither, a blight's aftermath in disarray.
Leaving just enough life to torture with the sight of what splendorous being you've consumed in your blight.
Or perhaps your manner is swifter, no mercy to allow one fatal strike, searing straight through to the vow that stupidly took this death into its wake.
Cauterizing the brilliance your corrosion would rake.
Either insidious path you choose, the terminus is same my essence to lie in burnt wakes of your flame.
You are death's plague, and this victim awaits their lot succumb to your contagions, or detonate from your rot.
This dire, foreboding piece continues down the path of depicting toxic, destructive intimacy as a form of psychological and spiritual death a grave affliction from which there is no escape.