WOUND / WAS / WORST
As I sprinkle some salt on the open cut,
I think of you. I think of the way
I graduated from your idea of a perfect man
to becoming a bad person.
Then came worser and finally, worst.
Why do I think of you at every wound?
Was it not you who came to heal me?
Was it not you who wished to take away all the pains?
Then what happened? Something happened.
Where is the promise, the love, the pain?
It all was. It all, my darling,
was.
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