|My Soul Hurts In A Special Way|
Who amongst you has never tasted the blood in their stool?
I called for salvation, but I came back
My only friend is the black cat of Osirus,
He stares into my soul and licks my deep hard wounds
the warmth of a window facing the sun at noon.
Tasting the blood in my mouth rising
like the stool passing through my inner turmoil,
I loved this woman
and would have raped her,
I mean not have raped her.
No, never have raped her.
Because she was a gift in a world of
razorblades and painful memories,
and I loved her, she could have let me pass easily
into her arms and her caring
and salvaged me and cured me and cleansed me
yet she acts cold now, as if ice itself
were the breasts that I wished to suckle.
This cat and I are alone
and the woman I loved has scarred me to the bone.
I told her that the rape comment was a slip of the tongue.
My body is burning inside from the pain.
I’m afraid nothing comes out of me pure anymore,
always trickling with the blood of my body’s rejected.
Please make me grow hard again.
My fellow Sister of the gates of despair.