The War Song Within Your Lungs: A Poem

You and I, we remained stuck in the same room.

Running in circles, ill-intentioned, at each other’s

Throats. One copying the other, hearing the empty

Walls of applause, muted, terrorised, blind-hearted.


You pulled my hair and I landed on my knees.

Your hands grabbed my chin, and you electrified

Yourself with fire and power. You waited for my voice

To stream through your bones, and I forgot the sound

Of my heartbeat.


You blew kisses in the dead air of the room, our

Scent on our backs, targeted, unloved, ordained,

They tasted like burned acid, a hot iron, a mess on

My body, a net around my skin, the lasso of your greed.


You followed me for survival, abandoned me

When you had enough and I could barely breathe

In the prison you built, the violence exhausted me,

Protecting my body in every single corner of the obsession

You nurtured, paranoid, wanting to possess and rid yourself

Of me.


I was your only mirror in that room, haunting you,

The mirror image of you, my face in your blind spot,

Paradoxically, you saw what you wanted to see, you

Wanted to be in pain, you wanted me to feel it too.


You believed in bondage, belonging to pain, together,

Interwoven, through the endless siren of suffering

Without memory, without language, silence loaded like

A gun in the darkness, screams charged with the weight

Of the world.

photo of woman wearing black lace
Photo by Ike louie Natividad on

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