The huntsman

she said to murder your darling
she said to push a knife through my chest
and let the blood spill
so she could have my heart
on a plate

the night was silent
coiling around my skin
like a dead lover
and I could feel your hand
sliding into my ribcage
unplugging the wires from within
leaving me

snow-white cold

Murder me darling


Your image in my eye

dries and dies;

what could live in this desert place of mine?

One day you’ll have the death of me

splattered all over your stark-white shirt

the most soft and tender breath

could be lost on your face.


-She’s sitting between crumbled sheets,

bones squeaking like a cat;

the illusion of happiness-


I could never stitch you back

head and heart and limbs together

properly joined-

it would take more than my life

to make you whole again.



Cold and final

Cold and final, this touch
shuts down my eyelids,
silence slides down my throat.

I can still hear
the soft hum in your chest,
I can feel the trembling of your hands
as you tie the rope around my ankles
and wrists,
I can feel the snow biting on my skin.

I’m not a cat,
I don’t have nine lives to die,
I have nothing but this old coin
pressed on my tongue.

We all die,
some silenced by time,
some by knife.


‘You do not know how a lonely heart
is trapped in a cageSylvia Plath
made of dreams
and bones.’
she said.

‘Yes, I do not know how to walk
in a too small shoe
but I feel the pain
of the foot.’

And it’s only a whisper
inside my head.

I weep knowing that Sylvia
is lying in a wooden box
with no windows
her flesh white as marble;
I’d never thought she’ll fall asleep,
breathless on the floor of her kitchen.


Oh, sweet death

you’re doing better than me

you’re keeping into your embrace

the loved ones

there’s a heart at stake

die was cast

my eyes are turning blue

Oh, love take me in your sweet embrace

pull the trigger that keeps my eyes open

and let me dream forever