gerichtet | a poem

you took it into your own hands

your face comes back to me

the silence in it

a kitchen standing still

the cut within your body

how blood was concealed

the thinning thread

red

curdled

white hair amongst the dust

on pillowcases

it would never go that far

you took it into your own hands

you wouldn’t end like them

you wouldn’t end

something would

would they

heads of the kitchen table

I waited for your mouth

when I should have seen the look in your eyes

carved

and they grew old

and you left the room

My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2021 | Instagram: @melpomenepaintings

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