Wednesday, 28 May 2014


I have loved
The wrong men
In the wrong way
Too often
To listen
To the stuttering
Of the tell-tale heart.

So I tell you straight,
What you wish to claim
I buried deep
With a sharp stake
Through the aorta,
Coming right out-
Bloody and gory-
On the other side.

I stuffed it with garlic
Anointed it with Holy-Oils
Sanctified it
By  burial
On Holy Ground.

Then like Heathcliff
Overcame with doubt;
I opened the casket,
Dragged the corpse out.
Its maggot–lips,
Spat the spite out.

So don’t come
To me now with
That winning smile
Requesting love
Without doubt.

Don’t you see my face?
My eyes washed
By my last mistake?
I buried that love,
Along with my blindness,
In one mass-grave.

Manuela Cardiga

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