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Author's Note: Thanks, William, for all the help on this-- It's much better now.
To have known you is my calamity–
The calamity of your attention
That, I admit, saved me
From myself.
The crisis of wondering
If I could make you want me,
Then leave you waiting
In perpetual suspension
For my inevitable rejection–
Flaunting absent supremacy,
Knowing that I was fighting,
Desperately, for my defeat.
Somehow, I knew it was coming.
To have known you is my calamity–
The trial of forgetting.
The crisis of avenging.
The eternal questions raging,
A tide pulling
Down, into the deepest depths
Of consciousness–
Leaving me to drown,
Uncertain.
All this thought is only internalizing
My sin; my assent
In the face of your desperately clenching
Shadow of a doubt.
To have known you is my calamity–
The trauma of touch
That, even now, pains me
To relive.
The way you sent me, sleeping,
Painted with good intentions,
And introduced me
To my own personal hell
Of questions I could not answer
Because I had no memory
Of the blood-spattered name
You gave me--
Whore.
------
She falls softly down from towering pedastools...
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