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In the house with the lights out<\/strong><\/p>\n One can’t tell by the walls <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marion Costentin<\/strong> is a French artist looking for her own voice. She lives in Berlin where she writes poems and draws all kinds of dark things.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In the house with the lights out One can’t tell by the walls that we are all broken it’s a furious look at lunch a scream behind windows it’s always the onions and I was born there in the house with the lights out where nobody talks and nobody feels perhaps it’s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12428","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12428","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12428"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12428\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13213,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12428\/revisions\/13213"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12428"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12428"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12428"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthat we are all broken
\nit’s a furious look at lunch
\na scream behind windows
\nit’s always the onions
\nand I was born there
\nin the house with the lights out
\nwhere nobody talks and nobody feels
\nperhaps it’s the man hanging
\nperhaps it’s the weather
\nor the slaughterhouse stink
\nwhen I come I turn all the lights on
\nand they cry when I leave. Heavy
\nmy heart because I took on their pain
\nI leave it outside for the birds to eat
\nand I go on loving like I taught myself to
\nfully and without borders
\nfully and I touch I hold I keep close
\nas though my life depends on it
\nand I’m afraid it does
\nI’m afraid it does.<\/p>\n