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Intuition

Francesca do you hear me? How about some sadomasochism?
Is that what you persuaded in the death of the night?
And there the bats go flying, spreading their dark bony wings,
Making noises as if someone was biting through their fleshy cheeks.
The cold freezing limbs, say not a word, at funerals my mouth
Goes up and twirls, staying serious seems an unfeasible duty.
I challenge monsters to face their odd reflections down the pond,
Pushing my head in the mud, eating dirt.

But then there's Georgia, isn't she feminine?
Wearing boots and riding horses in the woods, in the woods.
Quick to admire anything that's moving on the planet,
But disappointment is my only true lover –
With him my soul is intertwined as the branches of an old lady willow.
Lay my head down, feelings go numb, as if their existence
Was a load of steel, weighing through, weighing through.
People are too weak to carry it, I'd carry, but my interest perished.

So there we are, silence makes me go mad at the moon.
Why do wolves have to be such tremblers, pleading for chances,
Begging for oxygen, after sucking out all of my wonder towards them?
Never you mind it, child, it was never your fault –
the ugly beast deserved a guillotine.
Miracles do exist – just in the form of ghostly nightmares,
Visions of paradise under the ground, smelling the bones of condors;

Father, how about you? Fascinating how you were the only one
Who never turned around at me, was I less interesting
Because I was the product of your multiple semen outbursts?
Glances do not matter anymore, I learned to swallow intuition –
It became my food, sheltering me from anything superior in life.
In the dark, in the dark, you banned the last emotion out of my land,
Once again my goal's the only thing to strive for.
I'll execute the will of those who sit higher, breath lower,
Yet in this world, in this lifetime I won't ever open up,
It's shut down, even the tiniest thread of trust vanished down the gutter,
It's not bleeding anymore like before, like before
And it's the most harmful feeling – to be dead on the inside...

Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 632 times
Written on 2006-12-07 at 21:39