psychological disorder
sorta.
want you to want me to want you to want me to want you.
pains of sleep
nights i’ve spent helplessly meandering;
in thoughts awash my soul, detached.
amongst ewe and fences and spirits go down;
a path ever so mismatched.
i feel it this instant.
nothing beats the feeling of meeting a long-lost brother, with whom you can talk to about anything and everything, and everything just flows so very naturally. where there is an unspeakable bond built on similar experiences and common aspiration, where conversation and alcohol flow freely and without remorse nor hesitation, where a hug at the end of the day between two grown men does not seem forced or even remotely out of place.
title and registration
i spent the first fifteen minutes overawed. then as i found my feet i spent the remainder of the concert scrambling for every chance to record the memory of the night, bellowing my heart out to every single song on the set, and wiping the few solitary teardrops at the most favourite ones. no one could hear me, and in this loneliness i found strength.
more than once, i prayed that the lights never come back on. i felt like i never wanted to leave the comforting darkness. plus i had my world where i was all too singular, alone, and away from others. the little number 51 seat. and i would have let the neon lights and cymbal beats and guitar riffs take me away.
and so,
yes you got me carried away for a while, but it’s getting late and i think i should go back.
an old briefcase
the old dusted luggage sits alone in the hallway,
its contents by and large not unpacked.
the trip had already ended five months since,
with the ink on the visa mark still smudging and wet.
the time came when a force so strong
had made me open the sturdy, sad briefcase.
and all i found were incongruent beats of laughter and
some reels from a better place.
i then chanced upon my passport photograph,
a face so sad but unwise.
and different names attached to this person
i no longer recognize.
drowning down some aspirin in some juice and vodka,
as i kicked back in my bright, heartbreaking room.
i drew the curtains as the sun came up,
as the persons in my head parade in masquerade costumes.
i tell myself that tomorrow,
maybe it will be all good.
for if i resolve to not see red any more,
one morning all that will remain is blue.
and i will wrestle with my demons,
and by my side might or might not be you.
or i would leave the briefcase closed,
and its contents by and large not unpacked.
