You infidel, why do you judge me?
With your lacquered tongue in molasses,
and your words you spat at me like a
swarm of tiny needles eager to bloody
my garb—what hounds your head? In
the promise of a sunlit day, you dis-
membered hope into a corpse who wore
a frown for eternity. I thank you—for real.
I heard the pin drop of disappointment inside
my shell, but the discomfort I tolerated, because
I ate already of the rotten fruit from the past.
Nothing new ever happened in the days
that marched behind one another into the
future of the current grisly past. A roar
wanted to find an exit from my stubborn cage.
Instead, I found my compact, and I stared
at my small, fat portrait until my vision blurred
#poem #Camus #desolation #suffering #death