They think I am strong.

They think they are not hurting me

while sharpening their knives

on with my skin.

They think they are not stabbing

me. That they are just gently pressing

their tips in my chest. How can they

think they are not scaring me,

with leaving

open wounds for the world to see.



I left for a journey, without a luggage,

It made no sense at that time to have it with me

so I’ve emptied my chest and started marching,

to fill myself along the way.

and in the strangest place I’ve met you,

and I’ve carried you,

and I carry you,

and I’ll carry you with me.

And I might regret it

– after a while

but I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.


and tell me again, my dear, is cruelty your only asset?

no need to speak, I can feel.

you peeled my skin off, but there is no meat.

no need to speak, I can feel.

you have crushed my bones, but I stand still.

so tell me dear, do you have a heart?

is there something beating in your chest, or are you rotten inside out?