When my heart was open for
Everything
That you had to give
You plundered it and
Made my body
Leak.
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)
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by Croque-Melpomene
Author of "Within Paravent Walls". Pentalingual Idealist. Hypercreative homebody. Self-exorcising Poetess. Creator of "Croque-Melpomene" & "Les Femmes de la Décadence".
I hold a Master of Arts Degree in English Literature, Film and Visual Culture (Dissertation: The Decadent in Love with his Psychopomp: Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice' and Adrian Lyne's 'Lolita') and a Master of Letters by Research in English Literature, Film and Visual Culture (Thesis: Romanticising Decadence and Aestheticising Death: Women as Projection Bodies and Mimetic Identities in Zola’s 'Thérèse Raquin', Schnitzler’s 'Dream Story', Süskind’s 'Perfume: The Story of a Murderer' and Eugenides’ 'The Virgin Suicides').
View all posts by Croque-Melpomene
