a nervous 𝘵𝘴𝘬 of the lips
a little drop of sweat bulging at the neck
an eyelid flickering way too much
a mind that won’t change
a pillow that reeks of salt
a photograph of a distant memory
a fly buzzing around the plasma tube light
a buzz that won’t go away

a switch that won’t turn off
a stain that won’t dust off
a walk that’s unusual for the age
a kid who refuses to play

it’s the little things that give you away

a glass of bourbon
unspent napkins on the side
the cheque is written

a line in the sand
waves falling short every time
jittery wrinkles

hello?
you there…?
i can’t hear you!
we haven’t talked in a while, it’s true.
thought i’d remind you - the rent is due.
maybe… have a shower, or two?

i wanted to -
let you -
know that i haven’t given up on you.
though i’ll admit, it took a lot of work -
to finally get through to you.

it was brave what you did,
and stupid at the same time;
thinking you could make the climb,
holding on to your gratuitous rhymes.

it takes a while to see what's wrong
with all the ways you've known all along;
it never hurts to take a little detour -
ask for help, when you're not too sure.

don’t be too ******* yourself,
take it easy.
not everyone will see, or get,
what you see.
move around -
pick up a book -
or better, a blank page.
let your purpose take the center stage.

just one thing before i go,
perhaps, it’s good to let a few things go.  
anyway,
thought you could use some counseling.
come to think of it,
were you even listening?
hello?
you there…?

when the echoes of harmony leave the heart’s chambers,
when the ears ring between extremities of silence,
when the hallows shudder into a lull,
when the birds sing out of tune,

we shall muse together again -
my sweet bitterness.

'selfless gratitude' -
not something one inherits;
a skill one acquires.

it terrifies me sometimes…
the ugliness that smears the world -
with shades of despair, and evils unheard.

there’re things you hear, and learn, and know,
and wonder how mankind could stoop so low.
your fury knows what must be done, yet -
powerless you watch the madness grow.

the night is no longer the custodian of evil;
we see it day in, and day out.
the morning news, the afternoon bites;
come evening, you’d rather gouge your eyes out.

the screams of anguish of a woman bent over -
on the tasteless floor, her innocence devoured.
the wrath of a community, on the back of one man,
who dared speak his mind - his life is over!  

the game of politics,
the lies, the trecheries;
men without jobs - or homes -
living on the streets.
an animal slain to please a God,
as a child watches,
only to repeat.

yet it all goes on,
as though a **** in the wind.
the world tells you,
‘grow up, man! grow a thick skin.’
i wish i could tell you otherwise -
a story not so bleak.
but there…
they probably beheaded a son before his mother,
as we speak.