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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.


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