Like sugar, you continue to be the only thing in my life
that pumps my bloods with adrenaline everytime i consume what you utter.
I just hope that i don't stop
feeling like this....
and that i continue to feel this way
as if I'm stuck in a time loop.
“Behold, Ladies and Gentlemen, the heart!”
The venerable doctor professor said, holding up
The bleeding heart in his hand, fresh,
Of the young man, dead, on the table.
“Now, I cut it laterally into two,
Observe the atrium, ventricles, aorta etc.”
The heart still throbbed, blood dripped,
And thought to itself;
How little these men know!
They see the chambers and think them
To be empty.
Empty they are now, but he,
My dead man would remember
The hopes, the dreams, the loves
He held in them not so long ago.
‘I am not just a piece of flesh and blood’,
I slept on it, dreamt, planned my life
Here is his name I scratched, in madness of love.
This stain you see is my blood
Shed, in hope that he would love me more.
I take leave, my bed, let others sleep on thee,
Give them the love and life you gave me
But tell them not, the secrets we shared.
Tell them, if you wish, that I once laid on you
But tell them not I lost myself on your posts.
I take leave, my bed, may thee be host
To lives worthy more than me - here, a toast to thee!
Lying beneath the ceiling fan that pummel me
With gusts of hot air that refuses to leave my room;
Sweating, half-asleep, I swap at the mosquitoes biting me.
It is midnight or so, but I wake up; my skin burns and itches.
Switching on the light and switching off the fan
I scan the room for those bloodsuckers and hit
At one or two which lie on the floor.
I have the immense satisfaction
of crushing them with my toe
Leaving a smear of my blood on the polished tiles.
Sitting on the floor cross-legged, in the nude
I watch a mosquito landing on my thigh and stick its proboscis into me.
I could imagine her stomach billowing with my blood.
Dark Room.
The bathroom is my dark room.
The blade at my waist.
I slice the skin until I bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
My hands shake,
the tears come.
I tell myself how horrible I am.
Horrible daughter.
Horrible lover.
Horrible friend.
Horrible person.
I take the pain and hold onto the thought.
Maybe this punishment,
Blood, red hot like fury, burning through her skin
Metal piercing not just her flesh, but her entire being
A single tear drips from her eye, cold, as if she were already dead
She wants to wrap her hands around her body
She wants to feel her warm skin, to tell herself she's still there
But the only warmth is that of the blood seeping from her veins
Draining out of her and onto the hard floor
And she seeps with it
She is no longer there
Agitation climbs the rungs of my spine
My legs twisted in all angles
Knees and elbows bend over time
Dig my nails in the ground
As I mourn what was mine
Blood rushing my ears
As I don't make a sound
It tastes like copper
And I bite my lip
Just to check for my blood type
Of course.
It looks like the darkest cavern
And I close my eyes
Just to compare shades of black
Of course.
It sounds like chaos
And I suffer in silence
Just to notice how quieter it would be
Of course
It feels like all three
And I scream and I scream and I scream for help
Just to hear the sound of my own voice
Of course.
when i read translation, i poke around the words,
not at them, guessing at a reality not hinted at
but encoded by some prisoner from another world—
nobody's perfect; but i relish the quest for the
peculiar nature of some original writer, un-
known to us but through his function: images
thoughts perhaps of trees cows judgings ravings—
oh i'm an impotent feeling self-important fool—
consume the country, become one with it, i say to myself!
and becoming one with it belch and forget it!
no more nervous city twisting and coiling of coffee
and smokes, no more routines, schedules or lack of them!
what the fuck!— i'm internally shaken by these
desperate thoughts, my hand sticks in my throat,
So I go to
the kitchen
sink.
Perform the ritual
of washing.
I come to you
as you lie on the bed
the wet hands of a lover
used to failure
like crystal
slipping
from his grasp.
The effort
to bring together
bits of
flesh
i hold your heart in the palm
of my hand; i admire the pulsing
crimson life-force flowing through
the network of veins, tinted, just as
stained glass when the light hits it
at the right spot. luminescent skin
reveals deep, blue-black flesh
throbbing with hidden whispers
and secrets unknown to any man,
ivory white tendons, worn and torn,
just as the foundations of a fortress
holding up the bruised chambers
of the castle of your heart. feeling
the fullness of your flesh in the warm
embrace of my digits, a shadow flickers,
and i wrench my palm closed,
Your hands are small;
Cold
Blue
Your eyes are closed;
Purple,
Bruised.
I wonder where you are;
Dreaming,
Bleeding.
I can feel you in my veins;
Hear you,
Screaming.
But I can see you next to me,
Breathing,
Sleeping.
And I can feel you;