Tamara Stamenkovic
Poetry,  Written literature | Author's writings

Devastation

Which word expresses the madness that one must have
to fall in love with their devastation?
However, there are countless words to see
the splendor in which the entity reveals itself.
I don’t know why the remains of bruises
which I never knew
stain my hands like soot from flames
that I never lit.

Why every time I try
to clean the ashes from my fingers,
I feel like an arsonist?
I don’t know, but I know I have directed
more prayers for the unaccepted and strayed ones,
then for those who were just injured.
I know the concepts that signify
my existence in the diminutive form
can describe very well
how the floor below my room transforms into flames,
as if it had been destroyed by
my psychic flame.

It’s like I’m starting to write a story
with a happy ending of mind,
and with every thought, my mind dictates
words that make me hopeless and tragic.
It’s like I never liked the feeling
to be home more than
when everything around me was ruining.

Does it make me a bit of a maniac when I say
that I will never find more security than
when did my rib cage break into pieces?
The notion of deteriorating my brain
fascinated me long before this time.
We’re all crazy here, aren’t we?
This reminder is enough
to overturn my consciousness often.

I set my pocket watch
fifteen minutes ahead,
only to see who else will run
ahead of time with me.
I dig holes in my skin in the hope
that I would find someone there.
Yes, I’m crazy. You are too!
Because we are all like scattered ink
which spilled only to allow us
to shed blue instead of blood.

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