Dishing It Out But Not Taking It: A Poem

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You cradled my body

And I sensed decay moving in on me.

You wanted me on all fours,

Attached to your skin,

Engulfing me, you, your majestic doom.

 

My face against a cold window

The coffin made out of glass

The taste vanishing from memory

The gaze within nightmares

And the red numbers reducing time.

 

I think of you and ask myself

How much is left

To live between the two of us.

 

Did we tell each other the truth?

Did we let it out?

Not just rehearsed in front of silent mirrors?

 

You wondered around, impatient, bored,

Mocking everything in sight, smoking your cigarettes, pretending

Not to know better, no matter what, you always

Thought you were better, ashamed of who we were.

 

We are the products of your absence

The backlash of your presence

I can’t sleep at night,

Hands on me, fists on him, pow

Pow, pow, in our faces, on our bodies,

Your monsters were sealed on our skin.

 

I smell you in the blink of an eye.

I still escape you sitting still.

Hear your voice when I look

At myself in the mirror.

When I shower and feel rotten.

When I cook and shrink within the pot.

When I eat and taste your breath in my food.

woman in tank top sitting on wooden stage
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

 

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