Her body would never be mine,
I turned blind and inward.
I dreamed of possession and
She’d never run away from me.
I created ghosts. Through my hands.
My whispers. My imagination.
I erected her and demolished her.
I called it devotion. Love.
Alteration. Sorrow. Obsession.
I escaped. Everything was left unsaid.
Our rivalry existed merely in our thoughts.
Our actions outside of each other.
And I heard you ache and cry from the cracked
Spines of streets and rooftops engulfed by smog.
I apprehended your voice behind my back
And I forgot all the meanings of our words.
I buried you with your mouth gasping for air.
I tried to kiss it to conclude our story, but I
Feared the endlessness within you, the absorbing energy.
I smashed against your body so many times I
Had no feeling left in mine, no language, no joy.
Your misery had to be greater, had to outgrow
Everything inflamed. I became rust within
Your throat, your embrace, your suffering voice.
We couldn’t get stuck together in the mud.
I repressed all the violence, the guilt, the marks left
On my body to soothe you, listen to you, hold onto you,
Knowing that I was the one who marched straight back to hell.
“Blond und Brünett” by Leo Putz (1869-1940)