I woke up today
with the future upon me.
It pressed hard to my chest
in paralysis;
a hypnagogic sigh.

Other people pass by
as if the sun only shines for them.
They pester the street
with ease and no care;
I'm always questioning the sky.

The pain has returned,
and all the tears have dried.
There's nothing left in me
to pour your drinks, to smile;
to carry on with this lie.

Come together, he sings,
I think I'm in love, is his own reply.
All I have is the rhetorical romance
of art, never reaching completion;
the bonds I could never untie.

Cocoa butter is my solace,
returning the youth to my skin.
The rest of me is a scrapheap of flesh;
of knotted bones
and only stirring to die.

I'll fall asleep tonight
with no future upon me.
Old friends press memories
to my chest.

I hold them close, wish them well,
and for all that I can barely breathe,
I have no tears left to cry.