And I never imagined that
A being made out of love
Could be butchered like that.
Could be dragged across lands.
The being I held in my arms.
The beating heart,
Blood shed on shredded skin.
I can’t hold you no more.
They made me lose you.
And what has been silent and fearful
Was eradicated from below.
I held your head against my chest and
Now I wish I had never released you.
Did I abide by the rules of love?
Now that you are my deceased lover?
Is this how it goes?
The tongues spit fire
And they let us burn?
Our vulnerability is a target.
We dissolved into one another,
Where did half my body go?
I think of you
And I’m in pain, I see your face,
And I feel you’re invisible
On mine.
“Self-portrait” by Edvard Munch (1863-1944)
