Masculine Man

Tell me masculine man,

Are you even sorry?

Are you proud?

Are you heartless?

Look at me,

Look at my features...

Do you remember these eyes?

Eyes you sewed shut,

Eyes that cannot remember your face but remember your hands.

Calloused hands that held down my waist to a cold rustic metal that both froze my spine and time.

The familiar tic of a clock eviserated because of a man that reached for my innocence.

An innocence he stored within himself that burned inside the pit of his stomach, eviserating me. 

Does it still burn for me?

Did it burn for her?

Look at me,

Look at the legs that sprinted from its prey

Look at the lips you made quiver and shake like withered leaves.

Do you still lust for them?

Do you lust for them despite the words dripping in spite and anger?

Look at me, 

Do you see the image of a girl who knew what you were robbing her of?

Tell me,

Do you see her innocence?

Can you find it?

Is it still burning inside you?

Do you hear that?

The familiar tic is replaced with the strike of a match.

And when it reaches the floor, everything that is burning within you envelops you into a gulf of flames.

Do you feel that?

The burns you have caused my skin,

The scarring that will trace and cling to your skin like it did to my chest.

The ashes you will become are freed through the wind and gone,

Freed from my lungs as I inhale all that you have taken from me. 

The long hand moves,

the tic is heard, 

the time has changed,

Have you? 


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