My wounds already have a glow of their own, and to make matters worse, I dwell in the bright moonlight with a pale and faded face.

The poet paints a hauntingly delicate picture of exposed heartbreak. His wounds already glisten with raw pain, and the tragic irony is that the soft moonlight only accentuates his bloodless, pale face instead of bringing comfort. Often seen as a romantic embrace, the moonlight here turns cruel by acting as a harsh spotlight that refuses to let his suffering hide in the dark.