Tamara Stamenkovic
Poetry,  Written literature | Author's writings

Skeletons scattered all over the carpet

You ask me what to do with all that love;
Drink it, swallow it, then vomit,
just don’t get the carpet dirty,
on which lie my favorite skeletons.
And what to do with all these wishes?
Just cough them up so you can drink them again.
How can you ask me?
All I’ve learned is how to defend myself from others,
but not how to let them go.

I will always be half present,
half alive, selfishly keeping someone by their side.
I feel so much, and yet I get none of it.

No, only keep eating that love.
Swallow it.
Slide into my eyelids.
Never let them know
that the thoughts I had banished drove me.
They get stronger in my absence,
then they come back to devour me,
but I will smile; thread, needle, and lies on it;
bloody innards smeared over the sewn lips.

Why?
Did I read the fictional lines
over and over to be distracted,
so I stick to everything and everyone
who gets in my way?
Why can’t I hear the sound of bone cracking,
how come I can’t cut
anyone else?
If only I knew how to hurt myself.
When people need me, I’m not here,
when I need them, no one is there.
And yet, you stand before me, with your eyes, innocent and pure.

You thought I was beautiful and unique,
I told you I was a monster.
I will eat you alive, gut you like the animal I am
when I feel uncontrolled hunger.
To be fulfilled, to be needed,
and not being able to let loose, self-sufficient, with ripped skin.
I’m all made up of leaking wounds;
inside I hear them screaming.

Perverted pleasure and self-determination,
yes, I will love you, I will,
but not as a human, but as an abyss.
My heart is the absorbent sponge
for what excites it.
I still manage to revive my creations.
They are growing, eating me,
and I recreate them so that I can’t die.
They end up living as I do.
And I can draw that parallel
to put you in between.
You will always end up as my sweetest prey.
You will always become one of my favorite skeletons
scattered all over my carpet.

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