The shackles clattered against the roof of my head
and inside the chamber of my skull
blood splattered at the shot of a silent gun.
There was no noise yet I felt deafened by a sound
deeply engraved into the shell of my ears.
I scratched and pulled and skinned
until there was no flesh left on my wrist,
yet the shackles never ceased to clatter
against everything that I held dear.
What more could I do to be pulled out of this prison,
where I was bound against the desire of my will?
I dipped my fingers in the darkest abyss
chasing a fleeting spark of human emotion,
but nothing of what I found could help me fight
against what had already been done to me.
Oh mother, if only there was a way for you to know
how everything you said to me turned into a chain
Invisible restraints dug deep into my skin
bit down into my flesh and broke the bones of sin.
I was and I still am just the phantom of a child
who put himself in front of waves and thunders
to earn the gift that comes with mortal prowess
and prove that life is more than a shadow
you carry around: in heart, in mind, in soul.
When I first met you that day
I gifted you a bouquet of white carnations
you smiled thankfully and took them
as we parted ways when it stated to rain.
That day in the alley to your home
I picked up a cherry blossom at your gate
and gingerly put it in your hair;
You embraced me and I was left longing
for something I couldn't understand.
On new Year's Eve I was bold
as I came to your door wishfully
holding red chrysanthemums in my hand.
We spent the night drinking together
and I left silently before you woke up;
a flower bud sitting in the back of my throat
with everything I left unsaid.
Days came and went, time passing away,
slipping through the cracks between my fingers.
The bud blossomed all the way to my heart,
its roots running through my veins.
I left purple hyacinths at your door
yet you never picked them up
and I watched - from a distance - them wither.
With the separation growing between us
the roots dug deeper into my lungs.
You wrote me a letter one evening
saying nothing but that you are well
and I didn't bring you flowers anymore.
Now sitting by the wet, cold stone
with coughs of amaranth blurring my thoughts
I curse at the cypress shading your rest
and water the rainflower blooming at my feet
with nothing but my rue tears.