Dear Orpheus,

What happened to you? Why am I still in hell?
Your face seems very distant now, a fading joy from a dream, a snapshot never meant to be. But there’s no dream here, no exit, no sleep. Night itself is broken in two. A half-darkness lies on the pale floor, aborted, the other half, hung like a veil, is red, as if the entire universe was continuously bleeding in one great spasm. No moon, no stars, I can’t stand it anymore. It is deliberately dissociative.
What happened, my love? You were here. It was shining here. I drowned my terror in your palm. Yesterday my hand was fixed to your belt. I remember I even believed in luck. Now I try to understand what the fuck you’ve been thinking. Oh shit. Orpheus. You turned back and scrutinized me. You didn’t look at me as they say. Your wet blue eye purely dissected me. You know I’m not exaggerating. I’m talking about these scars on my thighs, this smell on my dress, and the vice sacking my memory. A sum of forced hours, glycerin stains and beakfuls of pills. Kisses and whacks until my soul forgets me. And this strange, new smile of ecstasy. I loved it. You know that, of course. The death-parties. The ruthless fists. I loved them all. Why do you think I’m here ?

They told you a herd of pigs wallowed in the clay of my heart. You thought they lied. Oh, Orpheus. Good brave Orpheus. God would have pissed on it to caulk the cracks, it wouldn’t have changed  a thing. Now I break like crockery. I drank my cup to the lees. All the life that once filled my eyes has dried. The hole remains, tearless. The circus is over. The entire screen exploded in a shining crack of green. Bile, Orpheus. Thick phosphorous bile. In this red night it’s terrific, believe me. Hell is made of these kind of conspiracies, nothing is left to chance. What seems to be wild is in itself a calculation. But you can’t tell the difference. Color or nausea ? It rises and fall equally. Here, we vomit the sky since morning. As if it was bits of our hearts. You know that feeling? No. You’d better not.

My love. I miss the constellations. I miss the moon. The beasts. The frozen ponds. Rain on peaches. Do you remember how night after night your hand reached my cunt ? The lost splendor of my cunt. How you stared at the dark grass saying I’m speechless I am living. I was so wrong Orpheus. Not to listen more carefully. More entirely. I want to feel my pulse in your palm again. I want to touch your silly mouth. You were the fool Orpheus, not me, the most beautiful fool under the sun. And you came to free me. How glad I would be to get out of here! I would make love to you with tears of joy. With a pure new joy. Kneeling in the cold wet leaves. Laughing in the doorways. Lying between the shelf and the bed. Alive. We would make love even in bed. I’m not kidding. Oh I’m not.
I was hoping, my love. I thought you knew all that. That you’d make it. That you wouldn’t turn back. I thought you believed in me, not this woman I became. That you wouldn’t turn back to stupefy me. To petrify me. In this shit. I thought you had no interest in seeing me draped in filth. No curiosity.
You said I was the rose of Sharon. The runnels of Lebanon. What happened ? What happened my love? Did your eye curse me? How? I was behind you. You were bringing me out for light. For air. The cliffs. The sea wide open towards the Byzantine dawns. The waves’ crash. You.
And then nothing.

When you left they gave me two bottles of hard liquor and I became invisible. I’m sure now I’ll never hear the sound of your voice again. It is my favourite sound. I’m trying to keep it intact. And what I’m trying to do now, I’ll be trying forever. I will always be there, wrapped into your absence, haloed by your touch. That will never, ever change. That’s how ghosts die.

Forget this stranger you saw in hell. Forget her.
You can do it. You’ll do it. I know.
Don’t you love me?