As I feel the drums are silent
I want the drums to be pounding
As voices have become silent
I want the voices to sound human
All I see is the suicide villages.
The bloody ink smiles with corporate glamour
With loneliness of fear –
Trying to sever the flash from my being.
One week from turning 40
The mind is jaded
The body feels the breaking
The moonlight is not swimming in the veins
Society is translucent
Imaginary is much safer
The corners aren’t as closed in as reality
Enchant me with clouds NOT full of dysfunction
Paste my paper doll body into security
And out of this demonic-wet unknown
Where I’m the fish,
The temptation is the hook
And the bait is hollow and not fulfilling.
photo by David Monje (unsplash)