During the time that my hand reached yours

I lied to myself. I painted you in mild colours.

Adorned you. You had the cruellest imagination.

And you were aware of it, crowned yourself with its

Fruits and corpses and distorted faces. I remember you

In my nightmares, where everything turns cold and ashen.

 

You want life to fade away in the palm of your hands,

Your treacherous grasp. You don’t welcome reactions.

You observed her disintegration, it revived you, the impact

She allows you to have on her. Because she still believes in

The sanctimonious words you preach and sexualise. In love.

She’s a child inside and that’s your speciality, you dig up what has buried itself alive.

portrait_of_a_lady

“Portrait of a Lady” by Jules Lefebvre (1834-1912)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: