Iconoclast

This is not a love letter
I’ve been breaking glass and pulling out my hair
I’m still here, I left the bed unmade,
And I didn’t shower and every time I breathe
I smell your stink
Fermenting sweat on the pillows in the sheets
In between fiction and reality
Hopes and dreams, non-existent stolen images
You’re burned in the backs of my eyelids
Every time I close them I revisit you
Draw upon the memory imagine it
embellishment , repeat it, regale it
Like this grand moment in history
Like when walls come down
And prisoners walk free and the prisons crumble
And streets decay and the infrastructure subdivides
And the movement converges
And the uprising is risen
And there’s no power left to seize
Because we’ve chased it all out
We’ve buried the past.
Would you love me?
Look at me
In your eyes we could have everything
But darling we never will.

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