I got out of touch with my own body.
You took my hands and misguided
Them along the edges of your skin.
Telling me to feel this, you, a cathedral
Of love, where secrets are safe, where I
Could be myself and do the things we do.
I look at my hands, alienated, you might as
Well have cut them off, I’ve lost track of their
Movements that you performed for them, for you.
I look at them, my own blood on them, you
Sliced me open, what’s yours became mine,
Without understanding, without explanations.
They don’t seem like mine, they seem to have
Remained stuck, in childhood, the hands of a girl
Whose heart had been so broken that she clung to
The lies you whispered in her ear.
She pretended to sleep, she thought that might protect her.
Your cowardice knew no boundaries, you were always seeking
Easy targets, sleeping girls, yours, ideal for you and your wrath.
I couldn’t sleep. I’d wait for that door to open.
For those lines, mine, to be crossed, to pretend,
To pretend, to survive, an ordeal with my eyes closed,
My heart bleeding out underneath the steaming blanket.
You took your time, ignoring the heartbeat, you knew
That I wasn’t sleeping, maybe not really, something
Inside of me had always been awake, and as you went along
It started to erase your gestures, blurring the traces of your fingers.
You wouldn’t let go, you transferred your guilt and shame.
You made me feel dirty. Thrown back into the gulp of the darkness,
Good night, nothing sounded more terrifying, paralysed onto the pillow,
You left me there to dissolve amongst myself and the skin you irritated.
Croque-Melpomene 