prone to narcolepsy;
a second thought, like -
a can of pepsi.
sold my peace for
a moment’s notice;
for the panic that utters -
‘you better not blow this!’

i sulk, i cry, i moan… it rains -
the clouds pull closer to
the gravity of my pain;
the birds find shelter at
the neighbour’s windowpane -
they leave me to dry in a room -
terrified, and insane.

i can feel the bed
warming up to my shape;
there’s a stain on the pillow
that reeks of sour grapes -
i try to rub it off,
but give in to my human make:
i curse the neighbour’s birds -
through a ****
on the moss-green drapes.

i hope it’s worth it:
all the trials, and the errors.
i long for a night,
devoid of terror -
so i may sing for a while,
with nothing to lose;
‘to be, or not to be’ -
left to me - to choose.

i knocked on
your door,
you opened with
a smile;
you knocked
on mine,
i returned
the favour;
the building was empty -
or at least,
the people living in it.
you were different,
though -
you were full of
little surprises.  
you were gentle -
like your touches;
and your kisses;
and your movements;
and my solitude:
of which -
you stripped me,
with your movements;
your kisses;
and your touches;
you shook me,
to say the least.
i was a sick man -
literally, and otherwise:
and it rubbed off
on you, a bit.
yet, you leaned on me;
pressed me;
cupped me;
grazed your lips
against the wet corner
of mine -
swooning;
drooling;
licking;
me choking on
cigarette smoke.
you choking -
every now and then.
you sick freak!
your uffs…
your aahs…
your mmms…
your every breath.
i loved you -
more than anything
in the world
in that moment;
that exquisite moment.
my eyes flickering;
my heart pounding;
my silence, silencing.
it was just right;
you were enough,
in that moment,
and all that
was you -

and then,
you left.

a restless jitter;
skin-deep promises, unkept:
no nails left to bite.

oh, the rush!...
that wretched dream
subdues me into a corner of the room,
as i endure myself -
through phases of quiet desperation.
there’s a gap i can’t seem to fill
with my words -
it’s quite a gap;
astronomical;
though feels as short
as but a step.
i was begotten a slave
to delirium
it didn’t hit me -
oh, no no -
it dawned on me.
it was, and still is,
conniving it’s way  
into the sanctity of my mind.
i often feel betrayed by it;
my mind, that is.
ah, what a treat it used to be!
shimmering with sprinkles of yesteryears,
and as sweet as endorphins -
the dream baking in it;
nice, and plum.  
back then, words had the
power to move me.
instantly -
for they were novel,
and as fresh as the scent of
the 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘢 cake i’d smell  
coming from the kitchen
when 𝘮𝘢𝘢 would be in a
rather generous mood.

now, it’s just words.

mud in rainwater
bubbles with irreverence;
a dog steps on it.

i fake a smile at dinner;
try to recreate it in the mirror
when alone -
checking to see if they
could’ve seen through it.

a bed of roses;
ruffled polyester, scorned:
unlucky petals.