Tell me, were you looking for fortune, were you looking for gold? When you dragged me with those peccant hands from the earth? Or were you burying a secret, were you hiding your lies? When you seized my body and pulled it away? Tell me, did someone see you? Did the woods shriek? When the moss fell off my body and the dead leaves quivered. Tell me, did my cold touch fondle you? Did my crusted blood prick you? Did you look at me, dead, in the eyes? Was I still me? Did you find me in that pallid green? Was I more beguiling? Spiritless and motionless? Was your eulogy a lie told to the crowd? Why did you come back? Did you forget the knife?
I foresaw your betrayal months before it happened. I perceived it, I sensed it, I expected it. I became aware of your presence lurking at the windows, gazing at the horizon, looking for a way out. The gates were closed and the doors were sealed but in my bones, I felt your itch for freedom. I heard your silent apostasy. I knew you wanted to leave me. I caught sight of your shadow creeping behind me while I was asleep. I watched you sharpening knives in a house that never eats. I recognized your anguish, your indecisiveness, your torment flooding the corridors of our temple of love. I found you under a cypress, humming a tune that wasn’t mine. I caught you unfolding an image from your pocket, just to press it on your lips and stash it away. So I did nothing when you cowardly decided to stab me in the back. I didn’t plead. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just turned to you, so you could look into my eyes one last time, while my blood was painting murals of love on white walls.
Keea Mihaly it’s an aspiring writer from Transylvania. She graduated with a BA in archaeology from the Babeș-Bolyai University.
When she doesn’t write dark poetry by candlelight in her coffin-shaped bed you can find her taking pictures of the moon and doing tarot readings to strangers.