A flaunty coiffure: hair mixed with threads of wire
And painted with a pack of ichor:
Vermilion, vermilion, as thick as life. Leaking, slipping
Among shivery fingers. Painting late violet nails.
Psych my mind out: the gauche pique,
It constantly denies me the catharsis.
I look around and I crave the unsophisticated flesh
Of them: they don’t get me, they don’t get me, they don’t.
Facetious freak, you make me circumambulate
This unbreakable circle of them, disinclined towards me.
Unadventurous limbs, you flagellate my energy
With your precarious longing of roaming.
Free, free, free. And integrated.
Or just integer? The depletion obliges me to prevaricate.
Charming repartee, “you are different, you are special”.
“Don’t let this world touch you, as they will
Destroy the most beautiful side of a human being
That you’ve still got intact”.
Five years on, and I am still the same.
Less gleeful, I guess, with rounder features, I know,
And dreamy, dreamy as a bird that hopes, once,
The cage’s door
Would be forgotten unbolted.
To soar above all. Laughable, laughable line.
Am I losing my mind,
And implicitly my hearty objectivity?
My treasure and my doom, an inimitable oddity.
~14 November 2013~