I wanted to cut you out of my veins,
to let go of everything that filled
my heart, the greed that kept you there,
the grasp I involuntarily had
on the hand of your shadow;
to become a snake and shed the skin
you were more fond of than my soul,
for it too, like many things I kept,
carried your thunderous fingerprints,
to leave my lips somewhere across
the universe, in a bin of broken
things, for they would not kiss
anything else, ever since your lipstick
remained on them as some sort
of parasite, opposing my liberation.
But despite that, I didn't, I kept
saving you, again and again, from
the grasp that wanted to erase you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem