Sad is Her Temper

Words create lies. Pain can be trusted.

--Audition, 1999 directed by Takashi Miike

I don’t appreciate it when a woman leaves

Without saying goodbye. I woke alone. You didn’t

Care to write a note. Were you always like that? Leaving

Without a trace? I had to search in dilapidated

Buildings, but nobody knew who you were.

That old man was laughing at me, mocking me

With his monstrous feet, telling me to go home.

You loved ballet, you say? You thought it dissipated

All that darkness you cradled. But darling, you’ll never

Dance. I should have listened when he said, Happy people

Can’t act—but as you lay there on the smoothness

Of white touching the sinister long scar on your thigh,

I could only give you love. It’s not my delusion alone

But yours. So, would you please just get to the point?

I’ve had enough of your seductive syringe and leather straps

Listening to that excruciating voice as you go deeper,

Deeper, deeper, deeper. You wearing sleek latex gloves

Matched with a girlie white dress was amusing

For you. Painful recurrence. Who wouldn’t grow 
Fond in repetition? This is how you keep appearances up:

Inflicting scornful punctures on my throbbing tongue, sides,

Underneath my eyes. How much practice have you had?

How perfectly you cut off feet with your trusty wire.

Oh no. No. I will not succumb to that alluring stare again,

Or the tenderness of your words as you speak so keenly about

Sadness and pain. That’s all you knew. It’s all you’ll ever know.