Swallowing pride beneath the dry ground

It’s tasteless, you say,
deleting my search history,
about identity destruction,
about a dumpling in my throat every time
I swallow my pride.
I said I’ll do whatever it takes
to end this war.

Physically impossible?
Well, love, that’s what they said about the atomic bomb.
Can’t you see how I can
destroy you with an explosion inside me?
But, you’re inside me, can’t you see the irony in the logic?

I dream of water as if I were that key
into the momentum that draws me into its abyss.
But there’s no break here.
Not even a quarter of your ego.
The eighth is still questionable.
The face swims in purple wax…
a mixture of cherry and open brain,
with whipped cream on top.
Despair grows from the shame with which you damage
your morale and you use my ice
causing your fire.

You taught me how to hunt-
our bodies merged
in the infinite cycle of revival,
glory in the instinct
of killing every feeling
that pulsed through our veins.
Meanwhile, the forest became dense,
protecting our distorted personalities from the world.
Soon I started to forget what the taste of water was.
This war is nowhere near over.

I enjoy the glow after digging
our history from the live mug
where we made love
the way you just imagined it.
We lived, dry and dirty,
miserable and indignant.
I wipe the radiation off my face
and I ignore your need
to drown me in you.
Through the walls of the shelter,
I still hear them screaming,
seeking confirmation from the heat,
waiting for their time to burn.
All my holes, every thorn of mine;
all my cries, my every urge.

I said I’d solve the crossword puzzle
of your living anecdotes about sadism
which you skillfully apply to me
and my thirst for the poison that isn’t you.

The forest broke around me,
allowing me to devour with my eyes
the leaves and the ground you fixed me in.
I used to imagine going to the lake,
I go out and become the same formless,
muddy thing like you,
freed from the chains of this world.

I can hear you.
How your craving for me blocks voices
– yes, I miss you too.
But, the tide is high and I no longer can stay
where I’m losing my breath.
I carved your initials as a map for a way out
on my upper arm and relaxed my body in the water
with no intention of returning.

And I remembered.
The water had a bittersweet taste of blood
and the torn skin I left behind.
I’ll be born again, and I’ll take you off from me
like a snake changes its skin.
But I’ll not return to the ground.
Never again.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may also like these