Death daphne down done

You will drown in the tears I shed, salty and heavy 

endless endless.

The insomniac nights I spent, my pillow bloodied and your face

casting dark shadows on the walls of my room, your pain becoming my pain.

They will haunt you. My childish small hands, never a pianist hands,

have left small indentations as they grabbed your skin

a sign that I was there.

a sign that you cannot erase.

I glorified sadness and grief, I thought I could find 

beauty and truth in them. 

What a child I have been, constructing stories from my life and yours 

handling us like plastic dolls 

a marvellous story I tried to write

of kindred spirits and miraculous revivals. 

You cut me off like an umbilical cord 

useless and dry and yet holding a life at the end of it. 

I am of no use anymore with my pretty words that mean nothing

and my naive sentiments that do not mend your heart. 

I gave you my breath my soul my strength my music my words 

squeezing my heart until you were saturated with me.

You need me no more.

and yet, I had so much more to give, all now tightened inside me.

I have to seal the cracks, the holes.

Your cries, your agony still bedevil me 

every night, I try to hinder the images that do not let me sleep.

the lifeless pale face that I clutched days and days

became statuesque as before

you were back, robust and icy.

I should have known. 

I am back here, conquered and alone

a pile of bedsheets meat and bones deposed like a traitor.

Do not think I will forget 

or forgive.

In each and every crevice that you made, a daphne will grow out of it 

sweet-scented with rose-purple flowers.

I will offer the daphne

to you, a lover only for a winter that left me.

The poison of the scarlet berries

will stifle and kill you.

I will watch and remind you of the words you threw me as a sort of consolation:

you reap what you sow.

You scattered the noxious seeds inside me

and let them grow 

and let them kill.