viernes, 3 de febrero de 2017

Desperate endings


I regret your tongue so full of tone-policing
telling me the things that I already know.
You move your hand and signal me
separating me from the rest
with dark eyes full of anger.

I have no currency in this wasteland
you call home.

You want to reduce me to a moral imperfection
and vindicate yourself as my savior
yet, it is not me whom you’re saving
but yourself.

It is sad to be someone else’s metaphor.

When I think of you, I think of a locked window
and a thousand letters scattered in a lodge
after the author’s death.
I think of me as an old woman burning alive,
in a ruined house overlooking the sea.

We live in a desperate world
that needs desperate love
desperate pleasures
but mostly,
 desperate endings.


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