The Deep Talk

He said, 'Only someone who fought that beast,

can recognize those singular scars it has left in your soul.'

And I realized that we like to talk with broken people

because we are broken as well.

When we advise them, we are softly yet hopelessly

cuddling with ourselves.

The words we speak are for them,

but they have helped us.

Then he said, 'I know what you mean,

but don’t do that because by the time they notice,

it might be too late.'

The lecture runs out through his tongue as the liquor runs in from his lips,

just because I was craving all the sorrow with my bare hands,

just as the small crab you often find on the coast,

too small to really notice their pain.

So I cracked my own home to certificate the illness

that comes with the bloom of my existence.

And one day, he did not say a thing,

but made something instead.

He made the pain blow away,

so the next thing to fall out,

he and his conversation died,

because at this moment, dear,

I just enjoy being sad.

I attempt to succeed in failing,

I cannot even get to be out of sorts.

I often find myself swimming in the pain

and far from a happy end,

just to get bitten by the shark of feelings.