apologize

at least the man
who tried to kill me
was polite
about it.

his hand
rests gently
on the back of my neck,
nails rough and worn
as he traces his way
down the length of my spine,
turning each knob
with a definite crack
until he reaches the curves
of my hips
and digs in.
sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i'm sorry. 
my name, something other
than a curse, a rope tied tightly
around us both, just hovering
between the space of his lips
as one of us, i'm not sure who,
starts to cry. 
we are left with
his hand on my heart,
knife on my gullet,
lips pressed softly to my cheek
in prayer
as he apologizes once more
and the moment
where everything pauses
and i brace myself
for the impact.

The Bird & the Serpent

L'oiseau et le serpent

J’ai eu une vision muette
d’une réalité sans couleurs pâles
qui forment l’essence de ta peau,
écrasée dans la misère
du petit oiseau dans sa cage
qui chante seule toutes les heures de la nuit
même s’il n’y a personne
qui l’écoute.
Ah ! Je cherche les morceaux
de mes souvenirs, mangés
dans la passion brisée du serpent
qui nous ensorcelle.
Est-ce que c’est possible de dormir
dans le lit de l’ennemi ?
Car je sais que le serpent
regarde l’oiseau,
qui chante alors que je le liberai
de sa petite cage d’or,
encerclait de la chanson infernale de la vie,
mais,
dans les moments d’ennui,
j’aime quand je rends chez-moi,
ouvre la porte et je trouve
les réalités de la mort
sur mon lit,
couvert de plumes.

The Bird and The Serpent

I had a silent vision
of a reality without those pale colours
that form the essence of your skin,
crushed within the misery
of the little bird in his cage
who sings alone for all the hours of the night
even when there's no one
who's listening.
Ah! I'm looking for the pieces
of my memories, eaten
in the broken passion of the serpent
who's bewitched us.
Is it possible to sleep
in the bed of the enemy?
Because I know that the serpent
watches the bird,
who sings in hope that I will liberate him
from his little golden cage
encircled by the infernal song of life,
but,
in moments of boredom,
I love it when I come home,
open the door and find
the realities of death
upon my bed,
covered in feathers.