The deadline monsters
Kept pounding on the door of my consciousness
Their frantic, banging fists
Threaten to reduce me
to a paralytic heap
of nothing but flesh and bones
I can hear the horrible noises
of splintering wood
The unnerving thwack
of a body
As it flung itself against
And yet I sit here
A posture of sheer pretentiousness
Ignoring the violent growls
of the monsters
In my head.
With glazed eyes
And absent-minded numbness
I watch Neflix.
He grabs my leg and pulls it over him, his hair falls in my face
I wrap my arms around him, tightening our embrace
I cannot get enough of him, he knows my body like his own
With only his fingertips, he never fails to summon my moan
Then we relax, watch Netflix and get food
My parents may tell me Satan's bad, but today he did good
𝙸𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝟷𝟼 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜
𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎
𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝.
𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚊𝚖
𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑
𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢
𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢.
Wake up process including one hour longer in bed
Breakfast & Netflix
Friends and family texting and calling
Rain watching on the balcony
Go to the swimming pool sometimes
But no swimming allowed
Go to get some street food
Dinner & Netflix
*** with the neighbor
Hold him against me
Sleep in his arms
Friend: “ How are you spending your time in quarantine?.”
Me: “ Wake up, eat, watch netflix, more netflix series, eat, again some netflix series and then finally have a good night sleep.
Repeat every day”
And that's how we spend our time these days
Fact is stranger than fiction.
Quentin sits for days trying to think of a plot,
As dazed and twisted as his.
And should the Tiger King take Quentin under his wing,
I am sure that Quentin's mouth will be searching for teeth.
(but then again, don't you think Quentin is a tad bit
Benevolent monarch, with peasants made of fur.
Boldy he strays upon a kingdom never his.
And the peasants,
They have no choice
Have no voice,
Nothing but the strength to look the Tiger King's
Advisor in the eye
as they say
And good old Carole Baskin watches.
From a pedestal of brie and champagne:
Money money money! Shower it.
Just not on the tigers.
No money for the peasants.
No money for the ******.
My hair touches my soft, huge pillow
And I tuck myself, thinking
Of the bright yellow egg to be prepared by our mother
The next morning
A mother scratches through her hair
Tangled with worries of where
Her husband has been,
To get the wages for eggs
She hopes will make in time for her six year old son
With rumbling tummy,
Little Tommy, will you wake up to the bright
Yellow sun not only
Your eyes shall see
But shall touch you hopes?
i never understand this feeling
spacing out too often
between Otis and Maeve
i'm just still wondering
what could've been
between you and me
and I know its way too late
but I wish it's never the same for them
because they're just on their way to their 3rd season
and we have finished ours
and I don't want to see the same ending