Dismal Skies (Poetry)

Habits

Half the day is gone to kiss her goodbye,
I retreat inside a cold room to dream.
A lucid dungeon, the sleeping remains
of beating vanity.

Exiled host, overflowing with brilliant cerise,
the bars clank with resentful endearment.
I awoke and heart was stripped,
a living taboo.

Black ooze drips from my mouth
and eyes turn white.
Chills and groans, bones crack
to orchestrate a malevolent hymn.

I'm losing what
makes me human.
To be honest,
did I ever have it?