hemlock170374

I used to love, in you,
the promises of a thousand women to come,
I used to worship and respect, in you,
my very own simple dreams of generous breasts and legs, kindly open.
I used to paint all the unfinished corners of you
and then thank you and love you
as if you painted them yourself.
And when we met, in the darkness of our room,
I used to lay on your body and make love to my own illusions,
inch by inch
and, kissing them with the gratitude of children,
I used to let you take my body
and turn it inside out
because I thought you deserved it.

You used to like me loving you...
but you knew the truth,
you knew you did not deserve anything of that
and secretly despised my silly gifts.
And because of this,
I was hopelessly yours.

I now have walked so many miles since I left you on that bed
and can't think of you in the same way anymore.

I now hate in you, with the same strength of the love I feel for you,
all the memories of a thousand women who went past,
I now hate in you the very image of myself and my old illusions.
Innocent you are
but you will pay
and take all the violence of my determination to be free.
Free from the old illusions,
free to impose myself against the attempts of life to show me I can't win.
You will pay because you are the mirror of my experience
and perfectly complete, on the other end, what I now must be,
as I look at you and do not feel anymore any need
to convince you that I love you to convince me that you love me.
You used to wince when I contradicted you
but you now love it, if I grab your hair
and throw you against the wall of my lack of need.
You used to become suspicious
when I told you that I wanted you
but you now die
every single second I don't touch you.
All the energy and time I wasted to become myself
now flow in the bottomless pit of violent hunger
with which I will satisfy my ego
and with which I will punish you for being the perfect mate.

And because of this,
you will be mine.