his mouth is a hole
from whence the bile cascades,
for his gut is a hole 
rendered ragged by the blades.

his hair is a streak
wind harbours no effect,
for his scalp is a streak
of unmoving neglect.

his skin is a pearl
beauty wrought of digestion,
is pallour is a pearl
of fake light pollution.

his blood is a scar
shot through into time,
his veigns are the scars
seared deep into mine.

his eyes are but voids
of nothing and empty,
his pupils are void
of anything but fear,

his embrace is a vaccuum
of sucking and silence,
his hands are the vaccuum,
drawing me near.

my resistance is futile
yet I cannot give in,
my existance is futile,
but he cannot win.