Scars of the heart from the first violence of love;
Image of my lover: ravaged and violated—
Equally afraid for both of our lives,
We hated ourselves but then so trusting
Her eyes never looked at me with tears
But I have witnessed her despair,
Quiet bellows of agony from her gutted hopes and dreams;
The fundamental shame of being a spectator
The anticipation of peeking at her scarred heart—
How beautiful. The sinister attraction.
I loved them as I loved her: with exclamation
What are we together again?
The disturbing closeness of our inadequatebodies,
Unacceptable triviality of love and our lives
You were like the way you run the bow
Against the strings of your violin:
Blue from being out of tune
In a dream, you said, I begged for your cold blood
And you complied without protest
Then I watched as you murdered yourself
The spectator of the heinous crime; an accomplice
To the woman born on 1994 and I loved 17 years later
Will chrysanthemums grow out of your grave?
My futile revolt against time and distance
Against the irreversible past and lost possibilities,
I’ll put the pen down. This is what I deserve.