My Chelsea

her eggshell eyes
ungleaming in the moonlight
her deckled edges
flipping sharply in the breeze
her scarlet blush
the color of paper cuts

that hueless face
could be altruistic
those enveloping caresses
that fill me with nausea
they must surely have
some purpose, some benefit

she pulls passing thoughts
from the ether and feeds them
breeds them into monsters
that steal joy and peel back eyelids
that coagulate into a screaming
grotesque sense of self

that part of me which
i dare not speak of
there are few ways to hold her back
all treatments but not cures
i can ignore her till she tires of me
or draw her a face and give her a name

my chelsea