Sur le parvis de mon corps
Que tu piétines et tu perfores
My skin is your safe harbor
With the blues in your palms
Mon ombre gicle et ma peau se fane
From the bruises on my heart
Telle une bougie qui se décompose
Through the running lake that is of fire
Le magma qui en ruissèle
Burns and peels and burns again.

Your picture’s effect on me didn’t wait too long before making me jump out of the bed, hysterically run my way through the darkness, into the kitchen, looking for that last bottle which has been emptied several days ago. I look around me to see that there are way too many emptied wine bottles decorating the kitchen shelf and floor like some existential reliques of the misery only you seem to master.

I needed that beverage in my veins. So I ran back to my room looking for that forgotten pack of cigarettes under my bed, only you seem to remind me of. Burning some eyelashes was the only way I knew how to light a fag with my shaky hands and sloppy self. Tears streamed down and sight went blurry. My anxiety kept gaining in size whereas my peace of mind shrinked until it died. Astonishing how pain prospered in the sound of your words, the screaming rejection, the underlying « stay but uner my terms » injuction.

I took my head between my palms and hid behind my hair like I used to do in order to avoid the piercing look in your eyes; the one that strips me off my fences and exposes me to the fire that surrounds you, bloody hurricane. Why did you come again? Troubling my flustered sleep with your exquisite presence? Why do you have to visit me in the most familiar places, like my grand mother’s garden, asking me questions and showing me the way like you’re the one who grew up there. Why do you have to be so well spoken, so sure of the world that wraps us in its cruel cruel arms?

You’re so vulnerable. So scary. So imposing. You hide and I seek, naturally. You’re like the Dionaea, you just quickly close up to eat our hearts alive. The kiss of death, that what you do, mouth wide open like the void you leave behind you. How do you do that?

Texte : Khaoula Farissi
Modèle : Sofia
Photos : Azil
Mise en scène : Asmaa Stiouat / Mehdi Filali Khessouane

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