Injustices pierced through my brain
And I associated everything with her.
My body would turn sour, a wave that
Would never come back, swallowed by
Louder shadows. She’d be everywhere,
A shed skin, still active, still pounding.
Dead Woman Crumbling.
The word arrives at my shores.
Surreal, unwanted, unclaimed.
And I push against it with all my might.
Away, back, out of sight, my mind knows
How to swim. My voice goes unheard.
The pain within it, the scarred texture,
Invisible, screaming, begging, corrupted.
“Porträt einer Dame” by Václav Brožík (1851-1901)