Friday, August 13, 2004
LE MONSIEUR SANS MERCI
How shall i punish you for ignoring me like this? Shall i write a song bemoaning my helplessness and bewailing your cruelty, shall i refuse loftily to talk to you ever again, shall i rush into someone else's arms seeking solace that i will not find for you have spoilt me for anyone else now... or shall i beg you to show mercy and let me be a slave circling your feet till you tire of me? The last few days, I have had cellphones growing out of my eyes and ears growing out of my heart. The last few days, my clothes have been my enemy, teasing me with their insinous touch and caress. The past few days have been hell. For who am I to you, that I can complain... what hold do I have over you, to show feiry eyes and threaten you with my silence. Your silence, for just a couple of days... has wrung dry my being, like a good washing machine; would my silence, my hapless pitiful reproachful silence, be even noticed?