The Abject Point at which You Say No

Love you. How the mighty words do but fall.
And still falling we bleed and say them still.
These words in which we are immured, we call
Ourselves forth to bask in, blinding us ill.
These words, our total loss of the senses,
Slipping into madness where they congeal,
Then set - gluey red icicles of fear,
Paranoid demon minds we fain conceal.
Our sweetest selves suffering in sweaty
Veneer; violence of such sweet cadence;
Brains blazing, shear of sudden black light. My
Light. Senselessness preceding evanescence,
Our new self-creation we thus bring forth.
A birth wrought. A nothingness of no worth