Bruised Elbows And Lost Tempers

Why do I have to write exhortatory poems about you every night?

How do you cut me to the whites of the bones and act as it is alright?

The craving inside is not quitting, it is only rising through floor, filled with rage.

We both know that as long as we care, we will not be able to turn the page.

Each night I walk for hours to ensure that I am not the broken one –

It was you that bought and loaded, and pointed to my head that lonely gun.

I am not sure how to make peace with my bruised elbows or lost tempers.

Tomorrow it will repeat – you will set it afire, you will not hesitate to attemper.

My saddest day was the one I learned people I love can be villains, too.

Falling in love with strangers was easy – it was you who woke up the madness of coup.

One thing you forgot in the midst of this war is how I lack apprehension.

I close my eyes not fearing your ill intentions

Covered as cheap loathing –

But it is not a sheep’s clothing.

More like a foreboding.

***

Love does not feel like exhilaration.

It is a senseless act of passion

Committed for your own defamation.

Exactly like high fashion.