I keep the curtains shut
at my tiny box of a home,
as if that makes it oblivious
to the laws of time and space.
Responsibilities are crumpled
at the bottom of the laundry pile,
aspirations, stacked with dirty
dishes in the sink. It has been a
while since I’ve vacuumed the floor,
I may have spilt motivation on it
a couple of weeks ago.
I wonder how long I can stay here
before I unlearn the existence of a
world filled with abstractions, beyond
the lazy grope of tired fingertips?
one day, a lonely boy
builds a dingy raft
out of empty vodka bottles
and sets out to sea, so he
does not have to see
straight, ever again.
he prays for merciless waves to
crash and roar, overwhelm the silence
of strangers on the shore too afraid of
getting their toes wet, he wants to drown out
the whispers of wayward ghosts luring
him into the murky depths of despair.
maybe the wind can carry his listless
body to shore or at worst salt-water can
hug his lungs and sting the open wounds
of his heart like hickeys or lighting,
forecasting the long overdue iris rain.
once upon a time, caterpillar thoughts crawled over restless minds stirring paper leaves into a story about a life that did not blend into the trees
sunlight streamed on her face
and she started to believe
yet in the company of others
she felt herself
trapped in the same routine
chewing over unspoken words cocooning beautiful thoughts into regurgitated strings of anxiety drinking 6 bottles of vodka cruisers to drown her palpitating heart from fluttering between not giving a fuck and caring too much
she found herself stuck
something was different today
her nightmare-filled breaths held the faint perfume of waterlogged wings from trembling lips and strained smile she spilled a kaleidoscope of butterfly corpses. hope-blotted wings no longer flitted through hazy memories
spinning a fantasy
where she could be happy
the sun hid behind the clouds
for the plot did not twist
she should have known metamorphosis does not occur in reality.