wall art

I hung my ex lovers up on my wall like art,

I keep their bodies as mementos of mistakes I’ve made.

Like Gogh, I give an ear to future lovers,

But the ear isn’t mine. It’s from my portfolio-

My arrangement of masterpieces, an array of red,

Agony is a beautiful treasure, isn’t it? 

I loan body parts to future endeavors,

Hoping one day my love will be enough. 

But it won’t. I know it won’t. 

I cannot Frankenstein perfection, cannot make my own future,

Cannot stitch together the arms that hold me in the night. 

My ex lovers cry in the dark- I hear them. 

I see them begging for mercy at my hand-

I merely wanted more, I wanted love,

I wanted something that was enough but

Will this story end the same?

Will I create something so beautiful and insecure,

That it will kill me? 

Will this monster of love take me apart and rebuild me?

Will I be nailed up next to the rest of the rotting corpses?

Will karma serve me justice?

Is beauty and desire and art worth the pain of myself and others?

I hung my ex lovers on my wall like art. 

They have been crucified for my sins. 

I kneel underneath their blue and purple feet,

Praying for a salvation that rings in my head like a tic,

An obsessive, compulsive, nauseating nuance. 

“Love your neighbor as thyself” you told me-

And I have loved them like I have loved myself. 

Massacred, bloodied, punished. Red is the color of love. 

I have loved them like I have loved myself.