Did you wipe your feet
upon my head
before you walked
over me?
Allow me to bend first, at least.
Was I so accustomed
to your disregard
that I could not
feel you
tearing through me,
leaning on me,
raiding me,
raping me?
Did you wipe your sweat
across my brow
to save yourself
time?
Let me fetch you a towel first, my lord.
Was I so unaware
of your self serving scent
that I put myself
forward
in offering,
in sacrifice,
to serve and satisfy?
Was I the fool
you perceived me to be
while you pillaged me
of dignity?
I saw a light
in the beginning
in the distance
and again
at the end
I thought it
to be salvation
but it turned out
to be your reflection
in the mirror
I was standing
behind you
but, as always,
you didn’t see me
you couldn’t see
beyond yourself
and that self-centredness
that took us over
like the sharp glare
from the car light
when it’s too late
and Crash…
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly