Grotesque, bloated
Shades of pink and pink
Sitting with a pile of paper
A shredder
Unable to destroy
The last traces of a life
The dog licks away my tears,
Because he likes the salt.
He brings me toys,
Because he wants to play.
A guttural, throaty groan,
I do not recognise the noise
Of my own laugh
I try to let it all out
It’s healthy, they say
But the pain in my temples
Grows more intense
I feel blinded, migrained
I try to locate my synapses
To send a message: stop
A reply comes back: leave
Walk away from the pictures and words
Reprieve for another day
I abandon the scene of destruction
Wait for my body to catch up
Listen to the sobs clutching me
Watch the drops fall from my cheeks to my knees
Later, my eyes are throbbing
I can taste the salt on my lips.
