n

Why do you desperately want to be a bag of bones?

the way a mother loves

a child.

But she never loved me

the way a mother loves

her pride.

because she wanted it.

I was all alone,

because she wanted it.

In my heart, there is a spot of smear.

In my hands, there is blood of the ones that I love.

The ironic taste of the crimson?

Is it only in my head, is it me that makes up this prison?

a hundred pieces of new mirrors,

laying around,

and I tiptoe around them,

as if I’m scared to get a cut

that wasn’t inflicted by my own will.

in order to form a connection?”

That is why for every occasion, you overdress.

As the fire takes away your nightdress,

I can see all the flaws you despise.

Each bone sticking out like a prize,

each roll of fat that brings a plump demise…

I express, I needed an affair,

to run away from this promise, this swear.

You are too thin, but too full like a pear,

your cries are like the rain, you wear me out with finesse.

a crime that you fear to commit (because you would be jailed),

a hypocrite (just because you said it),

a building permit (so that you can mess with it),

a doll you have to baby-sit (because you think I am without wit).