inHUMANe
(In)Human(e)
What is the difference
between hate and detachedness?
An obsession?
A plethora of emotion?
A deficiency?
They say Hate can be the crueler of the two
(No two emotions but love and anger…
…and what is Hate if not the most extreme of angers?)
It is slaving over a picture,
(Your lifeblood, your one and only capstone)
A living picture of what is loved most,
A picture so painful and so longed for it can't exist but be abhorred
and tearing it, ripping it apart
ruining it until the canvas becomes blood in your hands
Then glorying in the blood and the destroyed beauty
But! What vindication to know
The one who cares so much about you as to kill you
Knows your deepest fears, your darkest secrets
Your likes, loves, passions
(your everything)
Would care so much about you
As to devote himself to you,
To make sure you feel his presence in your life
And feel the hate for him as he does for you
As deep as an all-consuming, inhumane love!
Yet they say to be humane is to have emotion
(No two emotions but love and anger-)
…To have neither…)
Is painting a picture
A living picture of what is loved most
And seeing the painted pulse racing, the painted lungs shuddering
Recognizing the beauty of it
The pure light of its painted life
And then destroying it, dissecting it
into small, c a l c u l a t e d ribbons
and seeing the blood of it cake beneath your fingernails
and feeling the lungs pulsate beneath your crushing hand
And calmly stepping over the mutilated canvas, the desecrated corpse still calling out to the one who made it
With not a thought in your mind
Not a care in the world
Still (in)human(e)
But
completely
(empty.)
(c) 2011 Trina Rutz
What is the difference
between hate and detachedness?
An obsession?
A plethora of emotion?
A deficiency?
They say Hate can be the crueler of the two
(No two emotions but love and anger…
…and what is Hate if not the most extreme of angers?)
It is slaving over a picture,
(Your lifeblood, your one and only capstone)
A living picture of what is loved most,
A picture so painful and so longed for it can't exist but be abhorred
and tearing it, ripping it apart
ruining it until the canvas becomes blood in your hands
Then glorying in the blood and the destroyed beauty
But! What vindication to know
The one who cares so much about you as to kill you
Knows your deepest fears, your darkest secrets
Your likes, loves, passions
(your everything)
Would care so much about you
As to devote himself to you,
To make sure you feel his presence in your life
And feel the hate for him as he does for you
As deep as an all-consuming, inhumane love!
Yet they say to be humane is to have emotion
(No two emotions but love and anger-)
…To have neither…)
Is painting a picture
A living picture of what is loved most
And seeing the painted pulse racing, the painted lungs shuddering
Recognizing the beauty of it
The pure light of its painted life
And then destroying it, dissecting it
into small, c a l c u l a t e d ribbons
and seeing the blood of it cake beneath your fingernails
and feeling the lungs pulsate beneath your crushing hand
And calmly stepping over the mutilated canvas, the desecrated corpse still calling out to the one who made it
With not a thought in your mind
Not a care in the world
Still (in)human(e)
But
completely
(empty.)
(c) 2011 Trina Rutz