By Patricia Marcado

There is a rope around your neck,
there is a white rag eating your screams
and my father’s flat green hunting knife is on the floor.
You owe me your severed head
in a blue cake box.
You owe me your venomous blood
spilling from a chalice.
When I sleep, I remember
the shallow pool by the field
where we use to play as children.
I was there only yesterday but
I couldn’t find any memories
in the water’s reflection.
In here it is red,
he is showing me a vision,
the maker of my dreams.
I am in front of you,
demanding the exorcism
you promised me.
You don’t look like yourself
and you haven’t for a long time,
not since you kissed me on the cheek.
I’m selling my soul at the chance
to hear the breaking of bones
to hear your muscle collapsing.
To feel the green knife
digging out the snake
lodged in your bone marrow.
When I wake I will know,
I have come to know my own heart.
𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭
𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.