I fear now that everything has become small and tame, and the animal within me has become fierce and raging. It breaks bones and stuffs intestines with dust. Pleasure has made me grow, made me a creature unlike any other, delightful and projecting blue blood. Pleasure has made me love and be loved.
And now, what comes next? What comes after, now that I have learned to see what is to come and forget what has passed? Where are my pages, and where are the skins that I will put on my belly? And where is the warmth of the clay from which I will be created thereafter?
There is nothing after me, nothing before me, neither the warmth of the skin nor the desire that follows. My existence was singular and whole, our existence together was a shared essence, to be together.
I fear... I fear the other that dwells within me. And it has dwelled; we journeyed together on this path, and now we leap with bare chests into more life.
Does the shared have the semblance of a dream?
YOU ARE READING
Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
