I never wanted your understanding
All I need is a mouth
Something to eat gluttonously at my pride
something to lick the wounds later.

straddled atop of his tongue,
teeth caging me like prison bars
and penetrating when they feel like,
I’ll sit

collect them,

as trophies,
like soldiers stacking bullets around their necks,
counting just how many friends they shot down
I distance myself from anything real.
I don’t love people anymore,
only the wounds they leave behind

“I think he’s getting more violent,”
you said, as we stood comparing our scars
in the school corridors,
and shivered in terror and ecstasy
at the thought of getting torn apart
at the dinner table that night
I scoffed to myself;
I too, have loved someone like that
My skin has become a topographic map of wars
that were never recorded in history
my anxious fingers wander up to his jawline
and starts deciphering
where the next impact will strike,
dissolving me into bruises,
smoldering shame

and hysterical laughs
weaving promises that
next time

won’t be


Henna Sjöblom


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