I yearn for darkness, for the angels of the night,
For they are my safe haven, my perfect heaven,
Every moment of my life, I long..
To unsee the seen, the scene!
The horror he created, the trauma; I’m tormented,
The daily struggle to forget his haunting actions,
The nest, the cocoon he invested to create,
I knew right away, there and then,
I ran away to be sequestered from him,
To seek solace with people who understood my pain,
For that is where my shine is, where I find the light.
The sight of the golem, with a shiny epaulette on his bloody coat,
Walking with his huge hands, clapping, screaming,
Ranting after gaining the thrilling feeling of murdering,
After all the pain and suffering he had caused on his victims,
Satisfied with the killing.
Reminded me of the apothecary, with whom our love affair…
An affair I had become addicted to as it was…
Was sweet and sour, filled with melodious sounds of a brawl.
The abuse became me, the neck grasp and scars defined us.
The haunting memories: I see him, busy with his clasp,
Operating on his victim’s puckered scalp,
Swaddling the fissured, desiccated body parts; stored jars,
In a warm fuzzy mat.
I speak in silence, not out of fright, but because in his presence,
His raw fragrance that tied up the loose ends,
my purpose; my essence
my shame; my decadence
my pain; my burden
my sad face; my sorrow_nest
I was worthless.
c/o. Angiee Hinga