A Knife in my Back
You were a knife in my back
painful,
constricting,
out of reach.
Perhaps my own sadism enjoyed it at times.
Perhaps the debilitation satiated me.
However, if I could just have reached the handle at times,
just to reposition the blade,
We could still be living symbiotically.
But then you left me,
and you took your bloody knife with you.
It hurt more than when you thrust it in,
with all its pestilence and disease-ridden love.
For it tore pieces of my flesh with it,
and it drained my blood.
Although I am happy now that it’s gone,
the scar will always be there,
and I’m afraid the wound is infected.
(I promise I won't post anymore depressing poetry. I'm as sick of it as you must be. Next week it's back to substantive matters we can all discuss. Well, maybe.)
posted by -R at 2:02 AM
1 Comments:
It's interesting that this came with the previous article because it's obvious that one's past obviously shapes their present. In a Zen way of lookng at things, I would argue that the pasts you speak of and even the present doesn't exist truly at all. They exist only as your mind interprets them because the only thing that truly ever exists is the moment. Anything beyond that is only a derivative as you have chosen to remember it. It's obvious that this affects mosts' identities, and cannot be outright denied. Yet as you said, can be acknowledged, and ultimately "left aside."
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