The things that I want to say I can’t as a breath cannot be taken when both are in full swing.
As levels rise, sickness in me builds and drops the ebb and flow linked to the too and frow.
As I watch with each word as it is drawn from the sheath, sharpened and bloodied.
So clumsily wielded, the words picked from their wide library of choices strips flesh.
A little more soul is cracked and chipped as loves edges starts to chare in the heat of exchange.
These sentient beings whom I dedicated myself to, detach themselves from the safety of my diplomacy.
Tears burst the banks, mine, not theirs at this early stage of salvos, repeatedly released, devoid of reverence
Years of mutual creation deconstructed before me with hammers in hands and chisels poised.
The hull of this vessel shaken to the rivets.
The private liaisons with myself in the quiet, shadowed parts of where we live. Sanctuary is sought.
Forever the negotiator with a shattered soul and broken heart as two women whom I’ve loved
Two women whom I’ve planned my happiness and purpose around.
These two who have dragged my frame from darker places, with each of their hands on my shoulders,
My heels scraping the road as they bring me to safety. They no longer see me.
They fail to see each other, a gap opens, a lacuna when breath is taken. The temporary ceasefire, deafening.
Mist lifts and I hope that they recognise each other’s fragile frames.
I see them in all of their fragility and vulnerability, exposed.
The noise, three dimensional. It is misshapen, distorted from the pain and anger,
causing the heartfelt haemorrhaging of patience. Bare and exposed the lash marks seep
Aggressively delivered octaves once ripped each other apart, still rings in my ears
With every delivery I move closer towards the shadows, where peace is found
This gap in time, this ceasefire, this amnesty a truce so loose is timeous. I dare to part with wisdom. Kindness and empathy fills my heart and blood, my adrenaline and fear.
Yet all I see is the wrenching of separation. Shared souls being parted with no finesse
When can I start the re-build, and who do I start with first. Both are exposed and led by forces far greater than my forces can defend.
They love each other to the ends of time, amongst the chaotic debris which pierces their armour
Like hot needles in warm wax. I see you, I see you both my words fall to the floor the moment they leave my mouth.
Mute as they exit, some fall softly to the ground, others are disintegrated with the fallout.
They don’t see me, they never see me, when chemicals take hold
I continue to stand in this glass box, pounding the walls with frustration and fever-pitch love
The words they aim leaves doors between them, then locks and keys. If not checked and stopped those.keys will be lost. How will they find their way back to each other?
I want to be their distraction. I cut myself open, in the hope that I can absorb their pain.
Pedro Batpoet 