Esenntially you are the ethereal.
I guess.

A barefooted,
Barely clothed divinity-
Your skin,
Not smooth,
Not glowing,
But.

I guess you're dull.

Your eyes are hollow.
No they're not.
Hm.
No you're not.
You clutch the child
In your worn,
Calloused hands

And you are knelt to the sun.
Silhouette akin
To a doorway.
You are not heaven
Nor are you a staircase up
You are akin
To the temptation of hell.

You do not feel true happiness...
Until you burn...
Until you cremate...
And wither...

"Aye, that's aesthetic."

And you shine,
Making a swooping,
Steep u-turn up,
And all of a sudden-

You are holy.