Weltschmerz

I perish on the edge of your mind.

Your torn open mouth.

The world that it lets loose.

And I’ll besiege your body with my ears.

I want to hold a pencil and let go.

I’ve seen you and heard of you in countless variations.

I care about the heart that beats.

I think ours are aligned within undiscovered fields.

The eyes of a child would always know you better.

The hands grow cold and not quite abandoned.

You’d never lose your thorns and I evoke your faraway voice.

I can still smell your chest.

The pillow of insurmountable tears.

Everything you held in and I let out.

We shared a sacred pain and echoes ran across our skin.

You can always feel the end when you’ve known the beginning.

I can hear an image of you whisper to me

When I stick my head under the blanket

And try to keep the candlelight alive on my altar for you

For as long as I can, for as long as it takes to have you here with me.

“Ruhende Frau mit Buch” by Ferdinand Max Bredt (1860-1921)

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Published by Croque-Melpomene