touch
untouch
dripping like a tap that you can’t quite tighten,
that existential drip that worms it’s way into your every day sounds,
like a clock tick that renders you unable to sleep when the repeat disappears,
like sleeping in a strangers house in somebody else’s skin.
that zip that never zips, a constant vulnerability,
one that parades as a security but prays on the mind in the small hours,
one that drips and drips and ticks and ticks and decays and decays,
and decays into a pulsating mass holding a shattered visage of the man behind the man behind the mask.
it drips drips drips and ticks ticks ticks and decays and decays and decays like a stuck clock,
like a broken mechanism,
like a stuck record that repeats, repeats, repeats,  
it drips like a clock,
and ticks like a tap,
it decays like the mask behind the man.