exsanguinate | issue 2.4 excerpts

cyrano de bergerac
It suddenly occurred to me tonight
as I listened,
listened with my heart 
open
quiet
bleeding,
unable to breathe,
as I silently shuddered,
soft
gentle 
heaves,
as I cried,
vacant
aching
diminished.
It is true,
true that whilst I hide in the dark shadows beneath the balcony,
others climb up to kiss the sweet rose,
true that Molière is a genius
and that Christian is good looking.
Gripped by inevitable truth, 
I suddenly realized,
realized what I have been unable to admit
unable to face
unable to accept.
Though the knowledge 
may not quell me,
may not desist me,
may not force me to resign,
I know now 
that I am ugly to you,
a hideous
deformed
monster
able to ring terror into small children
whose mothers snatch them out of view
for fear that I might harm them with my potent glance.
I have grown so old -- so tired --
I cannot remember:
what accident has brought me to my present state?
What has rendered me so revolting inside and out?
What genetic flaw,
what circumstantial environment,
what heinous accident
has left me 
so physically unappetizing
so spiritually unappealing 
so psychologically repulsive 
that even daylight finds my sight objectionable...
Irrelevant
since I have learned to live with my disfigurement --
even to love it as an admirable strength,
as a gift somehow making me special.
Thus I wander my days
withholding from the world
from you
the awful fright of my demands and decay.
I remain with my retinue of memories of when you feigned a smile for me.
I continue humbly
my eyes cast downward
until I cease;
I pray that perhaps in the grave, my feelings for you may seek peace and rest.
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