There is so much clutter between us, nothing flows.
There is no room, neither for you, nor for me.
You are stuck and bang your head against your own walls.
I can’t breathe, the air you release is intoxicating.
It reminds me of death and self-loathing.
You tried to mould me, climb on my shoulders,
Dominate me from above, center stage, my thoughts.
You hold on to my ears and embalm them with your distorting
Voice that misreads everything, misleads, me, entirely.
You’re never empty-handed, you take what you need.
You adopt innumerable forms up there where I
Can’t see you. You shove down my eyelids and preach to me,
How much I need you, how good and kind you are to me.
You are so heavy, and we become one, and the dread spreads through my skin.
You unloaded everything onto me, our shadows: one deformed darkness.
“Portrait of Miss Elizabeth Greenway” by Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792)
Croque-Melpomene 