I’m this:
I’m a black hole,
sucking in
what love you give.

You could hold your cupped hands
above my gaping mouth,
pouring it into me.
It’d only be water down the drain,
babe.

What will happen to you
when I’ve drank your last drop?
I know I’ll continue on,
the same.

How could a hole hold or feel
when all it has quickly slips away,
forever disappears
into space and silence?

How can I heal,
when I’ve always been hollow?

In return for your unending loss
I give a blank, unrecognizing stare
from my great black eye,
formed form the darkest and most unmoldable materials
in this bare, unbreathing waste of world.

It is a cold stare to you,
but it’s meaningless to me.

If I ever give,
it’ll just be spit,
as I shoot out what I’ve undeservingly got,
before I collapse,
into a less damaging part of empty space.

Would guilt resolve my sins?
It doesn’t matter,
I don’t even know what this is.

There is no beginning, no end,
no loss or gain,
just unending waste
for whoever dares
to give themselves to me.