When the day comes
after the night of dying
everything seems so different
and yet
looking for traces of blood,
and the smell of burnt meat,
the scratches of bullets on the walls of my room.
My trembling heart in your hands.
Hide it in your eyes,
lock it up in your chest.
Can’t you hear them coming from the dark depths
to take everything from you,
everything I can give you?
I’m hiding in the corner
choking with terror
with my eyes closed
and waiting for you to come.
Saturday, August 28, 1982
Category: something in between