you fucked me good

like a read receipt that creeps
on the corner of every virtual textual transaction,

you cannot erase this relationship.
you cannot evade the effects of correspondence.

if you try,
it sinks its teeth deeper
on the repressed side of your heart
like an anti-rape condom.

well,
you fucked me.

you fucked me good.

but not even a doctor
can help you now.

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I have seen the face of my downfall

I have seen the face of my downfall.

It is not rigid nor jagged,
Darkness embodied by a demon’s chortle.

Not red piercing pupils
which stare into your soul,
Exploiting your weaknesses and insecurities

It is a soft serene complexion
With beautiful vacant eyes,
Looking through you
As if you weren’t there.

It is an indifferent smile
Which opens and serenely says:
“You are just a memory.”
A gone and past thing.

Whose importance no longer matters
Since your existence is benign
And viewed as a mistaken interaction of poor judgement,
Erasing the value of whatever good you might have thought there to be.

The devil does not take place in your worst enemies.

The most pain is often dealt by a former friend.

When two exes talk

The sensation of a gloveless winter walk
Emerges when two exes talk
Like being caught cold in rain
Or when the ice freezes the brain

A disconnect, that does not work
A helplessness that does berserk
It does not permit itself be made
And so the feelings only fade

I look at you and feel a haze
I know you will not meet my gaze
Rejected from the hopeful daze,
Dejected in a hurtful craze.

Searching fruitless in your face
For remnants of this old love’s trace.
I know now hot we reached this place-
Do you ever miss my warm embrace?

We chat like strangers who’ve just met,
I ruminate a previous bet:
You asked me not to break you heart-
On mine you’ve made a glaring start.

Indifferent seeming, plain and frank
A past me would think this all a prank
You were an angel, praised a saint-
A mere façade, a coat of pain

Destroying me with honesty
Forgetting all you learned of me
Awestruck, I still cannot believe-
You reflect this as a queer reprieve.

You held me close, and hugged me tight
Remembered as a sad respite.
I will a friendship, all despite
Restraining tears with all my might.

Proof of how history repeats,
I flame a smoke and take a seat
I peer inside to check my soul,-
Just ashes of a dying coal.

You loved me once, you don’t deny
You current self is stupefied
Our bond you attempt to forget,
It does not fit the life you set.

I leave you, for it hurts to stay
To understand this game you’ve played.
The aim was never to deceive
Yet it’s precisely what you achieved.

I depart your ruse,
Exit the grift
Take what’s left,
Accept the shift.

You’ve killed a part of me you knew.
The one I grew together with you.
In time you’ll realise what is true;
That you were young,
Lonely. Confused.

That you were afraid,
Thoughtless. A prude.
The fault was yours-
The problem was you.

And you must live with the consequence
of the choices that you choose.

Poem of the Day: With only one life by Marin Sorescu

Hold with both hands
The tray of every day
And pass in turn
Along this counter.

There is enough sun
For everybody.
There is enough sky,
And there is moon enough.

The earth gives off the smell
Of luck, of happiness, of glory,
Which tickles your nostrils
Temptingly.

So don’t be miserly,
Live after your heart.
The prices are derisory.

For instance, with only one life
You can acquire
The most beautiful woman,
Plus a biscuit.

[Trans. Joana Russell-Gebbett and D.J. Enright]

cinnamon swirl

I love to swipe the crispy flakes of leftover pastry
in the steel trays of Sainsbury’s bakery section.

It’s not a sin,
or is it?

Isn’t it?
Psh!
It’s harmless!

They would have thrown them away
anyways, into the putrid food waste bag,
alongside a load of unopened packets
which lie discarded, rejected, reduced,
and perfectly edible,
but awfully illegal to give
to the starving mouths in this city
and on these streets
for some reason.

Some friends of mine fish out these remains
to save some expense from their always shrinking pockets
and their always worrying conscience.

Last they told me,
in utter lament-

“They locked the bins.”

Access to their trash.
Our treasure.

because you are there

my love,
my love,
my thoughts are eager children
wanting to tell you
about their recent discoveries,
whether playful or tame,
wanting to indulge you with
pointless games

just to look up to you
and smile
for nothing other
than a plain and innocent reason-

because you are there,
and you care.

cut me open

the pain
in your unwilling honesty
inspires me
to cut open my own veins
and share with you
the warmth of my own sorrow

so you may taste
the fire
in my blood
and see
how the flame
will come back