The precision of despair Poem by Anne Vegter

My human nature makes itself unpunished
master of the inhuman.
I listen: a beating heart

is so common nowadays. Anyone without it
disturbs the pattern with the precision of despair.
The history of long-suffered pain pursues me

like the two stars - hey, twin brothers!
By all that's Pollux - who can touch me?
I no longer feel looked at like a fish in water;

here nobody has time for peace.
Mammie, around me they put bullets through their heads.
Suicide's a measure of the quality of life.

Who will, who can, who dares!
Pain begins at the base of the nose. Spare me the details.
I am a sick body's child.

Even without you every star will burst
red. Mammie, they're shooting me inside me.
The indisposition is just the beginning.