The acoustics in my kitchen
And my obsession over burning in the shower
With the hair on my hands turning blonder by the hour.
I don't seem to get any further.
The way my mother giggles
The way my father swears
The way I'm so curse riddled, how's this supposed to be fair
But life's not fair and I've known and gotten there.
The bubbly jester, the ruthless king, the lonely queen,
So absent minded, so cruel there's something wrong within.
It's all been an illusion
A lie to keep living
A violin playing, each chord striking a disaster I'll swallow up and never look after
I have been taught so well that everything could be easily forgotten.
What's the point in sleep, I'm busy tending to myself
Accepting rejection and waiting for final refusal it hasn't been great
I tell the splinters in my feet and the dust floating
It's all a lie I whisper to them
A limbo in permanent repetition
A masterful and tactical illusion.
How many times do I have to repeat myself? The words have begun to glow on my forehead.
Throughout infinite universes, all I grasped was brain damage.

I see faces in the tuberoses dying in my vase.
Are they really counting my days?
The faces wince in pain as they watch me every evening.
Tonight the faces contorted, dodging concern and flowing straight into judgement.
They hear the dogs howling and the mosquitos buzzing all trapped in this little silver box by my bed
So they focus on me instead
I know they've  been checking to see if I'm dead.
And every time I breathe again they let their fragrance haunt and mend.
The flowers are dying I tell myself, they have been for days, scent less by now I must imagine things.
My little silver box clings and the wood enclosing my room cracks and all I do is listen
Sirens, screams, rings and all sorts of disturbances.
Why can't I go to sleep and just forget about the tuberoses?
Why do I have to live in the flickers of light and notice their grimaces?
I've had enough tasteless nightmares this dead flora can't stand the comparison.
And yet their image burns and their scent hypnotises,
The door handle turns and what's hollow crystallises
My pride is hurt and the spiders in the house begin to thread.
I must be hallucinating about love again.

And then there's me in the grout of the bathroom tiles
In the root of the family tree ties.
There's me raging about death and how it defies
Me when there's nothing left but the cries.
Desperation takes place of admiration and now all I can do is stare at the present screaming at the past and praying to the future.
This dead horse of a family lies to itself in closure, prays to stick together to simmer in its hatred and I see it all.
The cowardice to leave is stronger than the search for peace and I'm again left alone.
Colder and colder the night angry and older and summer boils until it's over.
I run out of air every night and that caters to the wish of never waking up tommorow,
But still I do
Hopes brooding and wishes become sour now all I have to do is stick to the hour.
Watch the clock unfold its vanity then respill it all in me.
I'm empty and waiting
Fading...
Like every night lately.