“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
I think I made you up inside my head.“ (Sylvia Plath)
“The gloves don’t fit”, you said, “They are too tight, too discomforting.” I used your naive observation to persuade your submission, To make you comprehend that is precisely why I couldn’t clean Those vessels,
As the stifling sensation is the same as inside: Can’t fit in my own carcass. I am expanding,
I have to leave, you need to grasp this truth for once: I am growing divergent.
There is no way to pretend is still there, it is gone.
Why can’t you, for your own sake, get it for once? It is gone.
It flew away, and ran out of breath.
Too much pressure, too squeezable the stupor within. We are done, my love.
I saw you with him,
There is no possible lie that you could feed on me again, no rite Of cleansing that could blind me again in the scent of bath Liquid flavoured with apple.
The fruit of sin, of forbidden.
Let me go, don’t hold back, don’t pretend to sink, shrink, blink Through forced tears.
This is our separation.
Go now, run in his arms, you belong there, his murmur is an Indelible attraction that I can’t offer you anymore, We both know now.
Or I leave, and you stay?
Anyway, there is no way To glue and keep through
All of it again.
But I am still alive, even though I can’t reach my soul yet. Death is your lover
Now, leave me alone,
Can’t stand anymore this futile struggle to keep sane a wilted story.
P.S. Because there are dreams that keep you awake, but never awaken you/while others accompany you at every step and soothe you; /and one day, the sound of a closing gate guides your senses towards/the window that has ever been open…upwards.