Death of hope

A growing urge, an itch a first 
Accelerating rapidly to days and nights of sickness
Burning raw as skinned knees, bathed in passion
Was illuminated by days of contentment, spent together dawn till dusk
Impotent longing and months of building up, creation and excitement
Dreams of what might happen, what might be on her mind.
The future repressed, only the now it was then, with breaths taken in delicious pain
But fiction a hope like dessert for a hungry man’s eyes.
The last moment I ever felt complete
Tainted by an empty man, who sees only his troubles and right to be satisfied
A reminder perhaps that it was never to be.
Since then a growing pile of ash,
Confusion, an excruciating slow extinguishing affair of the mind
There was never a moment when at once I was aware.
Rather it limps away, retreating and shamed, I empty slowly like a puncture. 
Now I am lost without the hours filled with castles of sand.
As my fantasy crumbles under the weight of reality. I day I never stopped trying to escape.