Sweet object of my pain.

It was in that garden of blue carnations
When I felt the death of my mother
I released the chains that bound me with great sorrow to her bosom
Or so I thought
she looked at me with crystal eyes
consummated in surprise and agony.

I finished the ritual crying before the dark clouds that were coming a rain of calm
Without being aware that I have freed her from her masochistic company
Without it, waiting for it
If part of her life was in me, now she finds herself whole in my soul
It occupies my everything
as a resolution that drives me towards fatality
as if every day was the Armageddon of a will and a word
wandering in the void
in the chaos of my memories
She died for my failures, my aggressions, my insatiable trifles
They were the "I love you" drowned in fear
Those returns home
selfish and incomprehensible to her
In which I fell on her chest in a hug always late
That prolonged figuring the lost time
as if she recovered with every beat that from his chest stirred my temple
as if the slow rhythm of her breathing filled with answers my doubts
some tears fell on her, to mold her skin and her divine form
destroying the waist of her raptor orbits.

She suffered with it and I did not care
it was she who tried to build this sanctuary from his love
that demolished by time and corruption
it's just now a pitiful base without foundations
flat, desolate, screaming from every apex his help, his help
but what weighs me most, oh mother
is that even so the pitiful base of that sanctuary
that today and always will think of you
still standing containing a will, a will
because you have disarmed yourself
you are no longer anyone
you are the pool of dried blood that the light reflects with timidity
Knowing yourself in this way has aggravated my life
Your love is the greatest pain you have given me
that love that has a beginning in you
but an always tragic ending in me, leaving you behind
we have nothing left, more to love until your departure
because despite, that you are no longer the vestiges of a foreign past
something about you is still here
that sad puddle that I know you hear
that seems to have infinite hardships
but never joys that erect it
and I, as a gullible and melancholic
I wish that your remains are never one with the whole
I want you to be eternal, but with me and for me
without the love that you profess
that is killing us in life
that makes me your aggressor without wanting to be.

Beloved to whom I do not know how to love and I can never do it
you have given me this pain, these fertile lands of your love and sacrifice
to do something with them
but my hands are not suitable to work them and make them your ideal, your reason
I have failed you and I will always fail you, and I will not be able to amend the ravages of these hands
these hands
that put on your neck the pressure of my frustrations and pains
these hands
that in the sustained struggle of our lives, they did not give up their retirement on you
these hands
that seemed destined to prolong this vile act caused by the two
these hands
that caused the last tears that reflected the gray sky of that garden
garden that is already lost in my blood
because the carnations were you
caressing my feet gently, saying goodbye one more time
feel those tears like mine and start to see everything so fuzzy, so fuzzy
your face bifurcates in my ideals now
it is an endless love that brings me closer to death
to the threshold that brings me back to you
feel the goodbye kiss destroys me, I feel I do not deserve it
but so we must continue
towards the twilight of infinity that lies in your embrace
renewing my vows
living for us two.

Potrait by Anders Rokkum
https://rockum.tumblr.com/