I dared to look
in your eyes.
I dared
with an inevitable dare.
It was then I saw the blue,
the inevitable blue
of daylight.
And I wanted to see
them again,
see the blue again,
a second time,
a third time.
The dare became thirst,
an inevitable thirst
of clouds.
And the clouds
rained guilt,
an inevitable guilt
of blue.
You carry
more than
your own weight,
exhausted,
thirsty of
recognition.
You carry yourself,
you carry
somebody else’s self,
naked
towards
a crowd
of forever
anonymous
strangers.
Appalling strangers,
applauding strangers.
You let them
carry
the weight
of your body,
you release yourself
in those touching hands,
those judging hands.
They will rub
you warm.
But don’t forget
you rule them.
If you don’t
tell them what to to,
they will applaud
somebody else.
I cried a lost identity.
I cried and I cried
because I mean nothing to you
and you mean everything
to me, to a lost me.
To a me who found you
at the other end
of the sea of fate.
The salty fate
of an impostor.
But I’ve got proof
of a retrieved identity,
I have rescued myself,
evangelised myself,
I have taught myself
the language of death.
Now I own it,
it’s mine,
as it should always
have been.
But now you own me,
I’m yours,
as it should have
always been.
We speak
a wordless
language.
We play
a ruleless
game.
We speak and play,
we speak and it’s a dance.
It’s a dance
I want to see
you dance.
A game,
I want to see
you play.
Tell me,
but speechless,
so don’t tell me.
If I tell you
my mouth
will bleed out
words,
it will bleed out
a tongue
made not
of words
but of flesh.
A flesh tongue
that speaks
the wordless
language.
I’ll speak
and bleed.
I’ll bleed
to love,
to death,
to madness.
Everyday
you warm up
the air
with the blow
of your breath.
Surround me,
hold me,
touch me,
give me life
with your breath,
give me strength,
with your caress.
Everyday.
Let me feel
the warmth of
your breath.
Give me life.
Everyday.
Give me strength.
You ran away from me.
From the distance
you contemplate
what you’ve missed.
I failed to keep
the etiquette.
You punished me,
you escaped.
If I want to call,
I call.
If I want to write,
I write.
Now, from the distance,
I watch you,
you watch me.
We’re islands
forever apart.
We’re both lonely,
we’re both sad.
Forever ago,
we were close.
Forever ago,
we were in love.
But I failed,
how I failed,
forever ago,
forever ago.
I’m alright
during working hours.
The noise comes
afterwards,
after dark,
after what
I say
that seems
wrong.
I regret,
always regret.
I imagine
you afterwards,
after dark,
you with her.
Forget
regret
forget
regret.
I’m not afraid
of you,
you’re pure rhetoric,.
There are implications
in being lovers.
Forget regret
Forget regret.
Im afraid of the
morning after.
Afterwards,
After dark,
After what
you say
is pure rhetoric.
It’s wrong
It’s wrong.
Forget regret
forget regret.
I better forget.
The intellectual act
is the right spot
Challenge me,
defy me.
Ask me about
the simple things
in life,
I’ll give you
an answer that’s
bizarre,
I’m up
to the dare,
up to the game.
I’ll pretend it’s enough.
It won’t be enough.
We’ll play
the intellectual game.
I’ll exercise will power
and self control.
I’ll try not to kiss you
I’ll be above it all.
But it won’t be enough,
it won’t be enough.
I’ll want more.
You’ll build a wall,
a moral wall
between us.
I’ll try not to kiss you,
against the wall
you won’t let me kiss you.
I’ll be above it all.
It won’t be enough,
it’ll be just an act,
between us.
You cast a spell
on me
and then
you wait
for the effect
to kick in.
You observe
me,
watch me.
Your eye is like
a planet.
The planet
I want to
inhabit.
The effect
comes
like a wave.
I come
like a waterfall,
I melt into
the water
of your eyes,
you have half a smile,
a sort of smile,
you know
what you have done.
I’m here now,
it’s all wet now
on the planet
of your eyes.
I trench myself behind these words:
they have a violent echo.
The one you defend
doesn’t love you,
he’s not capable of it.
Your aim is wrong:
he vilifies you,
he gossips behind you,
he talks shit about you.
He is revolted by you,
averse of you,
you make him sick.
He would kill you
if he could,
he’s your rival.
He doesn’t need you.
The man haters
want you to denigrate
the fruit of your womb,
they want you to curse it,
they want you to drink the poison
and kill your unborn son,
they want to cut his penis off,
so that he won’t grow up to want.
Only then will they
be satisfied.
They will continue to be born,
the men
will continue to come,
will continue to love.
They can’t kill them all,
they can’t anihilate desire.
I desire that what I envy,
that what I want.
But they hate to want
and want to hate:
they are the violent echo.
A Brief Life 