A Poem Written To The Ticking Of The Clock

I am a dark cloud disguised as sunshine.
I am an opaque lie.
Yet, light rays illuminate through me.

I am constantly missing; constantly overwhelmed by a sense of missing.
Yet always present.
I am no gift. If anything I am a curse.

I shall dress in white satin and dance to the melody of the ticking clock.
I shall dance till the hot wooden floor feels like block ice.
I shall burn the house down with my footsteps; burn it slowly with my gentle angry footsteps.

I will run.
I will run so far, land shall crack to sand and sand shall become sea.
I will shed tears, tastier than the banks we call water bodies and more deadly than the waves that swallow.

I won’t lay on marbles and think of soft cushions.
I won’t skip on stormy beaches and believe in calm seas.
I won’t seek and dream of being hidden.
I won’t dive and believe I shall be saved.

Dreamers often lie but the ink on this paper is dry and the words tattooed on it shall seal the truth.


Monday Mornings

They start with a bus ride
Just like any other day
The freezing air from the AC hits your smooth baby skin

You wonder why you are here when you could be back home under your warm blanket sleeping

You put your earphones into your ears, the music awakens your muscles and nerves
You feel at peace – although you aren’t listening to anything classic
You look out the window, the bus moves slowly and you’re tapping your feet to the beat

Today is going to be a long day~