Our Dearest Phantom

This isn’t destiny, a dying soul. But death—such an intimate
Life. I trek the thinnest line: I can’t help but stumble.
Forgive a distant sin, show me God lives. Else cater Satan, a
Shadowed fen. My sheer infusion, a precious swan, alive—my
Nightmare. And I dare repent invisibility. It strengthens
Propensity—a tortured faith. Indeed, blame it on the
Mountains, our crooked accounts. But know, my angry love,
Something tragic, befell illumination. I was snatched adrift,
A burning void. How do I part wisdom? The secret, a sacred
Monster. But love, the future must invoke. Else despair, a
Child’s living room. This isn’t destiny, a dying soul. But life,
Such an intimate death. We perish, my dying love. Yet and
Still, the torch ablaze. And perfect tragedy—our dearest friend;
And perfect heartache—our dearest phantom.