Self-Portrait in Hell

Awake
with venom in my veins
from (s)words:
“just friends”,
your coup de grâce delivered late.

My heart still beating
right beneath my skin
    ready
to be ripped apart
        again.

Self-Portrait in Hell by Edvard Munch

This is for Rommy and the darker side of love at toads.

February 16, 2018

21 responses to “Self-Portrait in Hell

  1. Some people only feel love when it’s given by hands that know how to hurt them (well).

    We can be major sickos sometimes.

    Excellent poem. I could just eat its guts out, blood, bile, and all.

    I find the ending to be enticingly erotic.

  2. Isn’t it strange that “friend” could be such a cruel word? Wonderful poem, Björn, although I hope it isn’t autobiographical.

  3. kaykuala

    right beneath my skin ready
    to be ripped apart again.

    Lots of dark moments must have gone under the bridge!

    Hank

  4. Agghhh!! The friend-zone! What does it actually mean, anyway? Just friends? Someone too self-indulgent to be forthright, and quit the relationship.

I try to reciprocate all comments. If you want me to visit a particular post, please direct me directly to that post.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.