Poems About Betrayal – Part 2. Insomnia

 Insomnia




After the storm even the trees reorganize their leaves in quiet.

But me? I’m only swallowing my bitten tounge’s rusty taste – a painful diet.

My soul became nothing but a wraith that crushed it’s own clod into detritus,

(I’m looking for the words) – I’m naked, bare, bald, dreary, desolate, membranous.

All my memories of you became like the parched,

like the arched apple rotting on the hedgehog’s quill.

I’m only a clashing fast and a feverish chill.

A slumbering insomnia.


It’s a dog eat dog world, they say. Homo homini lupus est.

Ever since I sense the shadow of fear from the trampling sole,

I’m a spider’s shrinking exoskeleton, it’s like a neverending test.

As a wolf-eating wolf, intemperate mauler, that’s how my soul

sees you, my friend. I can no more have confidence in my own judgement,

though I can smell from afar the matted smoke-signal of remorse.

I’m only a clashing fast and a feverish chill.

A slumbering insomnia.


Still haunts me the ghost of the person you were.

It’s just the howling moonstone, wishing for some moonshine.

But I don’t wish to see you anymore, can’t stand you mirth.

I’m standing in your deaf-mute shadow, and I’m disgusted by

the betrayal that I cought a hold of on the crucifix of the never colliding glances,

I’m nauseated by the questions squirming on the surface of the never uttered charges.

I’m only a clashing fast and a feverish chill.

A slumbering insomnia.


You can’t hurt me anymore, since after your rampaging words

there’s nothing left but invisible wounds carved by the tats of stiletto heels on granit.

But the rutting of the glass-eyed bull lured to the moorland one may still hear,

the swamp-smell rattle of the frightened animal.

The greying pebbles stuck in the waterbed may be scratching like this.

Hark! How the foolish heart taps! I can feel the bitter pulse of the stone inside me.

I’m only a clashing fast and a feverish chill.

A slumbering insomnia.

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