[TW: domestic abuse]
You do not look me in the eye
As the door cracks open—
I cease momentarily as the saturating silence hits the ceiling,
Unfamiliarity settles like the cup of tea on my table,
I have known you beyond forever.
Incising words of the past cut through the air, invisible—
Like a tale of misfortune pursed within reluctant lips,
Unrecalled, but hauntingly felt.
Here, Misfortunes are buried in memory—
Not in words—a grim aching burial,
So, the tombstones become heavier,
Puncturing your insides as they stack
Like carcasses of war on each other.
We do not utter a word, I wonder why.
Glaring faces and swelling Monsters—
I stare into nothing, like you did
When they hushed cries and clamours,
As if Monsters should be accepted as destiny.
You gulped it down with pills of clandestine terror—
Like when the brightest red you’d ever seen
Was of your blood that your husband washed down the sink.
No one uttered a word, I wonder why.
Your silence strangles me,
But I’ve forgotten how to speak.
It’s the House of Misfortunes—
Your Macabre Misfortunes are counted amongst their Meagre Misfortunes,
Like the insignificance of death to a blithe youth, a fatal fire resembling a spark from afar.
All of them speak their Meagre words in crowded rooms—
I wonder why we never do.
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