I remember the dark room And me, A singular broken thing. My tears perennial Coursed the ground in all directions; As the sky of my body shook Quivering in the precipitation Of all identities lost.
I remember the dark room And me, Lost and disgusted with the self That could evoke Such supreme loathing from a being Who was the altar To all the love my heart could outpour.
I remember the dark room Like a cage with a dying bird. And me, The dying blind bird Whom the moon refused to shelter. It was a carnage of bullets, A rain of misgiving pellets Against the visage of my mind. Mutilated in agony, I stooped lower Hoping the ground would offer What the moon had refused to surrender.
Inside that dark room, It rained like acid From the hollow of his mouth Down to the narrow tunnel of my ears. The salty bitterness of tears Was the most sensible, recognizable feeling That my tongue remembers.
I remember the dark room, Where he made his dark love to me Crushing me under the pressure Of his bulldozing affair. His venomous tentacles searched insatiably inside My insides Only to find nothing⦠After all, The salinity of the tongue, Was as infertile as the salinity of the soil.
My lungs wanted to abscond my body, And while fleeing Spit onto him The warm blood Desperate to break Into the pitch black order of the dark room Between our legs In rebellious hues of reds. Before I could count further revolutions Of the motionless ceiling fan He had had enough of his regular persecutions.
It was over. Crystals of sweat Overhung over his Serpentine back. And in the dark room with the dusty cage There glistened A million shards of human debris.