The Benediction of Clockwork Phantoms

She stuffs her face into an obesity of fur.

Deleting your voice from her memory,

Swallowing your face, its cutting features, you,

Shoving you downwards, deconstructing your impact.

She sets herself on fire next to you, the sands of loneliness.


Her nose glides in-between her trembling fingers

And she tries to hold on to reality, to herself as a body,

As an entity, aborted from the outside terrors and restrictions.

She rarely blinks and sinks into her own void, smelling you around

Every corner. You set her up. She inherited you, internalised you.


“Portrait of a Spanish Woman (Claudine)” by József Rippl-Rónai (1861-1927)

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