Yves Olade

Slaughterhouse

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Here I was: September. I was Icarus, struck down by my sun and still dying to get closer. I was part wildfire, part wounded animal. Part sunlight, part slaughterhouse.

Like a child, I flinch at violence, wherever I find it. Even when I’m the seed.

But look at all these rooftops I didn’t throw myself from, even if I could have done it so well.

I was a fool, a lover, some starving thing. I thought that any boy who could kiss me broken, would one day kiss me whole again.

Longing is so different when you are born hungry. 

this is the kind of poetry & prose that speaks to me in volumes. layers upon layers of lyrical prose that keep me captivated & often leaves me speechless. truly beautiful.

Slaughterhouse

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