I tried to study you since the first time you held me.
And the more I grew into your own features,
The more your joy disappeared and you
Distanced yourself from everything that I was.
I ran into so many different directions
That there was nothing left of me,
Nothing binding, nothing concentrated.
I looked at you; your mind in faraway countries.
Did you run away, leave everything behind, or did you
Escape? You hid every single root from me and told me
That I was an aerial creature, a balloon about to burst.
You are made out of contradictions. Deconstructions of
Love and hate reside within you, everything is grey matter.
Everything is a ruin of a ruin, the leftovers of wasted lives.
“Helen On The Walls Of Troy” by Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton (1830-1896)