what have i done?

these days I see only the taut lines, the
the fallaway.
These days I see age and I see pallor where
there used to be purity
I see drawn cheekbones instead of round
but my God, my God, he will never be and I
cannot make him.
My God, look what I have done.
I have been passive in the most active of
ways
I have been nothing.
I have accepted and offered nothing in return,
we both know that is because I have nothing.
But I did not say the name. I said not the name because
it invoked too much,
because he would understand in flashes that
cannot be undone.
All the while I project, like a blind person
I paste voices to faces and create monstrosities.
I have done it so long and so well that they are
complete
and pound on the windows of my head to become real.
And I am silent in the face of their movement;
I hope that if I avert my eyes they will go away,
or that is what I tell myself
but the truth is my white cheek is a beacon.