You handed me the knife
So I would never forget my wounds
So that I would never forget the source
Of my wounds, the impact, of you, the
Source of life and pain, I ran away from death
As long as I could live, I had seen enough of it,
In all its forms, so close to the decorations of
Destruction that you surrounded me with,
Running and fighting until all energy would
Be lost, given to you, handing myself over. No more.
You went on and on about your sacrifices
And yet I have never seen your heart on
The sacrificial block where all our vital organs lay
In sheer terror and love for you, crippled, trying
To survive, begging for a life that had already been
Given but that you never gave up draining.
That’s the essence of you, lying as you’re giving,
Emptying as you preach that you act out of love
And dedication. I remember your body. The body that
You played with in front of me, the body ejecting mine,
Unformed, undeveloped, gotten rid of, hanging on to,
The body that played you, I’d rather look at your body
Than what it harbours within, all those ghosts within you,
The body makes them look harmless, oh, I knew better.
There would never be enough room in the house
To escape you and the devils you fed on a daily basis.
Like clockwork. On my skin. Your curses. Your utter
Malfunctions. Someone beat the heart out of you.
And you multiplied in that state. Scorn. Harmfulness.
Prayers against me. Stepping hard on the pedal.
A tree could end it all. Your thoughts electrified, screaming
Against the wind, throttling the water, bashing my head
Against your body, moulding against each other, repeating
Who I am, how you see me, a disaster, grinding your face
Against mine, me on all fours, pulverised, fragile in the storm
You evoked.
“Tod und Mädchen” by Egon Schiele (1890-1918)
Croque-Melpomene 