Martyr

The only place I want to be, if I can’t be in your arms, is in front of the place we met, lying on the floor, waiting for death to come upon me.

 

Let the passers-by see a heartless corpse and wonder: “How did she live with a leaking cavity for a heart?”

Let them mourn the life I couldn’t live anymore.

Let the passers-by cuss at me and curse me!

Let them be witnesses of our unspeakable love.

 

My tainted blood stains will weep my death on your doorway, eternally unclotted.

And if my blood won’t be enough, I’ll break my perfume bottle and let all the aromas infuse.

 

I’ll be your incense,

I’ll be the myrrh,

and I’ll burn to mask

the stench of your guilt.

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