I have no idea what’s going on.
Maybe it’s all too much after all.
At some point, after all.
Maybe everything outside of myself
Feels shallow to me, burning the edges,
The cliffs, maybe I can’t step out of it,
Snap out of the ashes on my skin,
The taste in my mouth,
The rage and disappointment, the absence
Of your language, the dialogues that I listen to
Over and over again,
Nothing, revealed, nothing,
Suffering goes unseen, unmentioned,
Maybe you ate it up and not the other way around,
Maybe I’m barely holding it together,
Maybe something within me is still begging
To be repaired, begging for air, begging for togetherness,
What is this, disillusionment, staring at the world’s faces
In disgust, in irritation, in abandonment, lacking hope,
This is not me, and yet sometimes this is it,
The sounds twisting around, pointing their fingers and arrows,
The poisonous lack of love and empathy,
The loss of the big picture, the inner picture,
How everything shot down to hell,
Everything good thrown out of windows,
And I’m here looking at the gulp
Between two curtains
Staring, breaking, in violence, in agony,
Your life is over, I paint my heart out,
Every day, I paint my heart out,
Because I don’t want to fall, I don’t want to scream,
I don’t want to despair, I don’t want to disappear,
I make myself visible on paper, in words, in colours,
And meet you there, speak to you, there, together,
We create and I won’t let us fade.
Croque-Melpomene 