stlngd

 in midst of paralysing sleep treading dreams
and desertion of consciousness, surrendering control

as if i could choose to keep it if i try,

i could hear your voices fading.

once you are well over oceans away i promise

to keep myself busy if that's what you want of me.

i couldn't let you know ever at all that i was at wellesley street

on new years crying for something that will happen months after

because in my head it was christmas.

with the blazing summer heatwaves, a hollowness like no other,

struck and cratered.

it happened well before.

the smell of singed hair, a party favour lit,

a single can of cruiser in the back of the fridge.

a sleep that lasts a lifetime and some.

i am not where i want to be.

and the scapegoats i laid against the boulder with machete pressing their necks

bled.

in my recollections, i believed i was wringing the rocks.

these beautiful imageries that are almost biblical conjured up behind

my very own eyes aren't mine

at all.

it happened well before.

dreaming of death isn't death, but metaphorically,

indications, sound of a train passing,

bedsheets ablazed, a man dressed in black, the choir.

an obituary.

incoherently, at 26,

an ego death has/will.

i couldn't speak the languages of those who might

understand my spewings.

my ancestors, do they?