My Everything

My everything is nothing to myself;
    Your nothing is all I can ever feel.
To observe your whole self upon my shelf,
    I live for thee though I surely unreal.
Your world, it beckons! A pantomime true.
    Pain, toil, abuse, lackluster suits of old,
The pitfall, as thou describes, was due.
    A trap too soon, in which I will soon fold.
...Yet again, a miracle, yourself is.
   That smile, that walk, that yearning which you talk.
Lift your heart up proud, you wond'rous miss,
   Nothing you do can change how I still walk.
As my heart is now what it should not be,
   Fallen in love with a fair maiden, thee.