Her howling intimidates thunderstorms.

That’s what was left when you stomped on her wounds.

How dare you look back and not blink?

She doesn’t know her way back.


You happened so fast.

You happened to her.

You observe the falling apart, enjoying the power, you, the orchestrator.

Her body decays in your wastelands.


Inside out, the rain drops off her skin.

She can’t move, reality would manifest itself.

Movement implies fact.

She is gasping and knows she has to.


How dare you rip open scarlet scars?

How dare you drag her body in your chain of conquests and heartache?

Across cobblestone streets, bashing her head, you showcasing tormentor.

Her pain leaves your memory, a sieve, you devil.


You pretender of love, you demented storyteller.

She will catch you in your dreams.

You did not blow out her flame.

She is a survivor who walked through fire her entire life.

Ash, bow down.


“Kundry” by Rogelio de Egusquiza (1845-1915)



4 Replies to “La Femme au Teint Feuillemort”

  1. This is so powerful. And written in a way where so many can relate. This definitely makes me remember pain I’ve experienced in the past, and about all the moments where I overcame the hurt.

    Liked by 1 person

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