দস্তান। দস্তানগো।

The days I find myself talking to the toad.

The one that licks up all the ultramarine from the night skies-

All the gunpowder smell from our apartment-

All the guilt from my fingers.

"Forgive me,

For I didn't call for you when you killed me in cold blood.

I hope the sheep are safe, too.

I hope you didn't find where they are."

I tried to love the face that spat a genocide on mine,

To birth a project,

Too arduous to the novice,

Too glorious to be called a sin.

The toad keeps licking up all the genocide from my lips.

All the shade from my eyes.

I sit on the rosewood chair,

With half my head on the carpet.

The other half hangs on to the body

By the thread of shame.

I let out a moan.

Your voice reaches me,

Like it came through a copper pipe.

Billowing out the dignity of a parasite,

You grasp at the void that I left.

The toad comes,

To lick up the void from the earth.