I love you.
No, loved.
It gets confusing, separating my old thoughts from my current ones
Especially when on the same conceptual topic such as love.
Or you.

I love you the same way one loves an abusive parent they've long separated from
I love you with a flinch at your touch
And an obedient and calm agreement at your word

I love you like I love the sharp side of the blade you carved me with
A painful, dulling sensation of my flesh exposing to air
And all the comforts of home ingrained gracefully into the handle you hold


I love you because of the things you've shown me I can do
I love you because I thought you left me with these cursed gifts of knowledge
But last night you returned
And reminded me of how things were

You entered my room, and set my nest ablaze to give yourself warmth
You screamed my name in the same tone and voice you had dozens of times before
You forced yourself into existence by forcing me to acknowledge you and your presence
Last night you returned and reminded me of how things were

Last night you reminded me
Waving your blade in the flames as though giving it a sip of love for good luck.

Last night you returned
You blessed my cursed name by speaking it into the smoking sacrifice you stole from me

Last night you returned
And I finally remembered the bitter taste of fear and love rolled into one
Just as one remembers the instinctual response to a near death experience
Or the lullaby of a sobbing mother frantically trying to get her young to sleep

Last night you returned
And I cried with tears of breathless silence because I did not want to stir your presence away nor keep it close
I cried with frozen tears of fear and terror
As you whispered your sweet nothings and filled my mind with hollow promises
Of a fantasy world
All the while dragging the blade across the top of my spine

I love you.
No, I did love you.
And now you've returned
And I fear our next meeting as one fears the loving fist of their abusive lover
And I as your claimed soul will have no choice
But to listen to you carefully
As you sing your song of my defiance as a mocking song aimed at my pride
And slice my skin to give yourself another jacket to protect from the cold

He looks at me
What does he see?
There one second
Gone the next
Zero context
Like floaters in my eye
No need to be shy
I want to look at you
You’re nothing new
Hiding in the corners
I’m getting warmer
Meet my eyes
At least try
Mister Man I want to see you
I’ll hide in the shadows, too
You watch my every move
What do I have to prove
To let us make contact
Or are you just the abstract?

Come, Friend.
I'll show you around the house and tell you all the trivial things that remind me of her.
(Here in the hallway)
These stacked, empty shoeboxes,
That I now keep my poems in,
These bare walls that I suppose,
She could make a better use of,
(In the living room)
This monochrome vintage tv,
That she'd have thrown out,
My books lying haphazardly on the table,
That she'd have cleared up,
My guitar that hasn't been restrung for 7 months,
The pictures of Dutch tulip fields,
The multilingual posters on the wall behind the TV,
Like a pretentious polyglot,
(Now,the kitchen)
And this bitter fragrance of tea leaves,
This divine scent of cardamom,
Rising from a hot cup of tea,
The rattle of kettles,
These dying rose petals,
Parmesan and cheddar,
The cheesier the better,
All of that pickled food,
According to my mood,
The battle of spices,
Those gingerbread slices,
Everything-
Everything reminds me of her.
"She's but a figment of your imagination,friend."
She's but a figment of my imagination, friend?

I am searching for the imperial crown,
my body injured by the earthly pain,
the voice and scent of mankind,
I am reborn in the spiral of earthly evolution,
sip of divine scents,
the seeds of my unique being sprout,
kiss me and die,
vanished from life.

As the pupae churn and shrivel,
And the worm chews on my brain,
I speak to my little devil
And ask him what’s his game

As the robbins tweet and whistle,
And the land’s engulfed in flame,
I speak to my little devil
And ask if we’re insane

As the winner claims her title,
And a horse is named a lame,
I speak to my little devil
And ask why we’re the same

As the forest shakes and rattles,
And the leech is drained in vain,
I speak to my little devil
And I tell him it’s okay


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow