33&2

how come the snow on a grave doesn't melt?
the memory of bones keeps intact
all the violence,
all the purple dreams
and all the curtains of shadows
that have ever covered ones body.
hands never waved that last goodbye,
no promises were made
before you left.
a tiny blood spot on a white pillow was your last signature
before your eye-lashes turned stiff
and your dreams cold and unworthy.
your face, that arrogant nazi face,
vitrified,
spread shades of guilt on mine.
your body, that hypocrite hippie body dressed in dust and venom
lied there, on the dinning table
asking for tears and forgiveness.
first course, my wife
second course, that bitch my mother is
third course, my daughter.
was I a good dessert, daddy?
was the bitter flavor of my skin worthy of such an imperial feast?
you said you would have eaten earth for me, daddy,
but now the earth has swallowed you
and the ghost of a coarse ikebana watches your sleep.
saints were watching you
as if you were some sort of cheap tv show
so petty and ridiculous
but still with a 33.7 rating point.
green fields and endless blossom cherry trees were promised to you
but, daddy, we both knew that the only
never ending blossom was that of the rotten wood of your coffin.
the only genuine things you had
were a round golden chain on your finger
and a bundle of pink flesh.
but, daddy, the golden chain became a spoon
which priests use to eat their moist boiled eggs
and
that pink flesh turned violet.
and now you're a joke,
an invented name on a cross
and
an uninvited chromosome in a girls muscles.
you said that white doves would bring me home,
but, daddy, you forgot to tell me where my hut was,
on which shore the first brick was put,
and now
I sit on the edge of this cold ocean
and
I grow seashells right from my skin,
'cause you should know better than anyone
what a great fertilizer a wounded soul is.
you said that flowers would spread on my skin
and
that roses would pour out every time I would swear
but, daddy, thorns are growing from myself now,
'cause you never bothered to tell me
that ones sins become yours
once you touch him.
it felt like craving for your redemption, daddy,
when I kissed him.
it felt so incestuous
while I fucked him, daddy.
yes, don't be so surprised.
I fuck. I fuck.
just like you did.
and now
my womb is empty
because his dick is hollowing someone else
just like you, daddy,
just like your dreams hollowed my mother's.
his name is...
but you already know his name,
don't you daddy?
'cause you were there, on the corner
watching us,
watching me.
smiling while I became you.
why do I feel like I am 33 already, daddy?
I am only 22.
and
there are 11 more years for me to crawl...