Emptiness
Which should have been filled
So long ago,
Is now a gaping wound
Which will not heal.
Despite time's passing
It stays
A crushing weight
On my back,
A weight I'm now so used to
That even I think
This is how I really walk.
I feel your wicked fingernail-claws
Still stuck in my neck
Leaving punctures
Re-infected with each season.
Music is my only medication..
Pouring it on,
More and more
It pours over me,
Entering, then dissolving
Through this dense body,
Eating it away like acid
From the inside out.
We are trees
Which won't grow leaves..
Skinny, naked, twisted,
Exposed to all manner of torment
Until the hurt is so familiar,
Such a comfort,
It seems like pleasure.
-Federico Garcia Lorca-
*Sepi yang dirasa begitu menyakitkan ternyata sanggup memberikan keindahan lama kelamaan..*
