the present

 

          I offered myself as a present,

          the best thing I could give to you,

          the only thing I could think about.

          But I pressed my lips against your mouth too hard,

          and you swallowed up my life so fast

          that I was dead

          the morning after.

 

          And now I am asking

          why did I speak so much?

          why did I give myself,

          away,

          deceiving myself

          telling you all the truth?

 

          All, and, the truth of it,

          not being myself at all.

 

          In all my words

          trying to be all

          (for you)

          For you were all that mattered

          that night

 

          But it was not as hard, then,

          as it is now.

          (let's face it, I'm still just a stupid child)

          and you knew that

          as you always seem to know it all.

 

          Now, I am speechless

          for there is nothing I could say.

          I am left senseless,

          for there is nothing left to my senses.

          I am sleepless

          in the midst of a load of dead bodies,

          of dead carcasses of stories,

          of words long passed away

          after resting for a second in your heart,

          and getting frozen to the bare bone,

          before they ever knew

          they were buried deep in ice.