I saw in your eyes everything that I feared in an endless mirage.
Turning their heads, gazing backwards, trying to find erased stars.
Your skin is cold and long gone, I lost track of it somewhere, you
Open your lips and I’m not interested in the escaping words anymore.
You dance your old steps and I learned how to walk again without your
Crippling heart exhaling its narcissistic fumes next to me.
And you knock on unknown doors, pretending to be anyone but
Yourself. Your language exposes your face. You wait for the perfect
Strike. And you meander shamelessly, collecting leathery nerves.
I heard the way you pronounce your own name, the self-loathing
Behind every letter, the tongue hitting the deserted mouth.
And all the souls you’ve eaten start to reek from your gut.
“La marchesa Luisa Casati con un levriero” by Giovanni Boldini (1842-1931)
Croque-Melpomene 