I was born from you.

I was created to please you,
to play your game
in this infinite madness.

You awoke in me
this fragile eternal existence
only to make me bow to you
like the virtuous child
captured by the Beauty around me,
oppressed and choked by Time,
and crucified with the perpetual music of Pain.

I am your humble yet glorious pawn
in this tyrannical game of chess
where you are the only player.
You are the game unto itself.

You are the incomprehensible woman,
in this interminable procreation.
The almighty martyr of eternal passion.
The ruthless Mother
lovingly kissing her child in the forehead
only to break his will a second later,
and shatter his faith
with a violent fist of fate.

You graced your own head
with a radiant crown
only to blanket me in the frigid starless night.
You give me hands to create,
then you mutilate them into pulp.
You give me eyes to adore you,
then you burn them with your blessing.
You give me a soul to make love to you,
only to be raped from the inside out.

You pulled me out
of the overflowing cup
of your imagination
because you needed an audience,
because you need to feel pain
to feel alive through me,
you needed someone
to admire
your desolate perfection.
You needed me.

But we are One.
You sabotage yourself
with your own blessed creation.
Your universe is decomposing,
unraveling in a billion sentient beings.

There is subversion in my tears
as they flow into the endless sea.
There is bitterness in the salt
because nothing really exists,
I am just the remains
of your oblivious dreams.

I am your quixotic dream
swallowing all the windmills
during a procession of virgins
in a stormy night.
I am your illusory trophy
entombed in the earth
abandoned and discarded
in old age.
The old age
that comes in one second
after birth,
after you got tired
of a billion smiles
and a billion lovers.

I am your creature, Creator!
I am still you!
Even when you want to extinguish me,
you cannot.
You cannot kill yourself
in your endless solitary agony
of Being.
My light will never end.

So bring me more suffering, if you want,
slay my soul in a thousand floating pieces.
Show yourself how omnipotent you are
in this endless cycle of existence.
Receive a standing ovation from you
in your exclusive theater
of Life and Death.

Love has loved itself out of existence.
God has left the room
and the bloody curtains have closed.

Tell me what to say now
to my own child when you kill yourself
before you are even born.

I am the wail left behind
in the unlit universe
that reminds you
of your greatest masterpiece
and your greatest
wretched
broken heart.

 

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Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Matryosha/Flickr