you were the contradiction between
warm wool jackets and Nazi eyes,
the one that called me sweetheart
and surveyed the rotten apple of my body,
pausing here and there to bite, to bruise.
the one that incessantly called me beautiful,
as if the words could cancel out the fact
that I was a bundle of rough, swollen skin.
the one that saw my shaking,
those awful tremors of simple love,
and never made sound.














Comments
--
"A maiden running from a Prince?...
Does that make sense?!"
--
truth lies in silence with fear in our teeth.
.halley.
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