you took my childhood in your hands
*
you look down on me
belittle me
blowing your shadow out of proportion
*
I look at the faces of adults
and I can’t find life
I can’t see their souls
*
she paraded her body around
the wealth she inherited
without lifting a finger
the empty face
the empty eyes
she is putting on her perfect make-up
and all I sense is the deep nothingness within her
*
she takes your worst wound
and uses it against you
cuts you like a knife
again and again
*
she is so bored with her existence
she needs to take picture after picture
of her face, of her body, of her face, of her body
to realise that she is still there
*
she is cruel because she is bored
*
she tells you the truth
because she wants to see the pain infect your face
*
her eyes shine
in the reflection of your tear
*
as long as death was a spectacle
they’d take part in it
*
grief is not a competition
*
you slammed your knife into my back
and I left it there
to remember what it felt like
to trust you
*
the worst things that were said about me
came out of my father’s mouth
*
the past is the past is the past
the past is very much alive
and you can’t see it
*
I keep the past very close
it only takes one step
and you’re back in it
age doesn’t play a role at all
*
she thinks that someone must care
because she sits there crying
there must be something
*
she is so full of emotions
that she seeks out people devoid of them
to make life easier and bearable
*
and all they do is take her heart in their hands
and twist and squeeze and twist and squeeze and twist
*
the less they feel
the more she feels
*
she seeks love in vicious cycles
*
she goes home, she goes home forever,
but don’t forget,
home is still home, but
home has always been a scaffold
*
she warms up to ghosts in her bed
*
they treat her
according to the worst things
she tells herself
in secret
and she thinks she’s heard
*
only life-draining demons want to be idealised
Croque-Melpomene 