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)
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Published by Croque-Melpomene
Author of "Within Paravent Walls". Pentalingual Idealist. Hypercreative homebody. Self-exorcising Poetess. Creator of "Croque-Melpomene" & "Les Femmes de la Décadence".
I hold a Master of Arts Degree in English Literature, Film and Visual Culture (Dissertation: The Decadent in Love with his Psychopomp: Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice' and Adrian Lyne's 'Lolita') and a Master of Letters by Research in English Literature, Film and Visual Culture (Thesis: Romanticising Decadence and Aestheticising Death: Women as Projection Bodies and Mimetic Identities in Zola’s 'Thérèse Raquin', Schnitzler’s 'Dream Story', Süskind’s 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' and Eugenides’ 'The Virgin Suicides').
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