The Trinkets Within Unlocked Rooms

When my heart was open for


That you had to give

You plundered it and

Made my body



They still don’t know that part

Of you that ransacked everything

Within me that was untouched.

They embrace your face and ingest it

Wanting to give themselves to you

And the fake worlds that you speak of.


You are that man, for sure,

But I have been there for the drought and depression

And endless insanity, the orchestra of your clandestine

Brain, the drums, the torture, the fanfares of warfare,

The childhood robbery, tongues sparkling red, fingers

Amidst the gargantuan gulp, footprints on the spine and trigger.


“Portrait of a Woman with Diaphanous Gown” by Georges Croegaert (1848-1923)

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