I wanted you
to know, Medusa, that I had nothing
against you, or your attempts at love and
conversation. I never meant to
look into your eyes in the first place,
or promise myself to you, because we
never should have worked out from the start.
Is that what they said would happen? What was
it they said that our love was supposed to be,
Medusa, my twofaced, snake-charming sweetheart?
Did they say it would be like us, like this,
our wounds still bleeding from our last battle?
Or did they just simply forget to give
me my mirrored shield, my rite of passage
as a man, so that I would have to
look at your screaming face and let my heart
turn to stone like this, against you?
You were beautiful once, too, my Medusa,
beautiful without love, without my sword
piercing your body, but now you’re headless,
your hair misses your body, and I am stone.
I wasn’t prepared to protect myself against you
and I destroyed you in the process.