these days, i’m a china on the tip of a cupboard,
one push away from breaking, peace in pieces.
i see the shattered shards already, a vessel after vertigo,
that split second of silence, i perceive the flames in me.
nothing burns more than a hungry soul
a scavenger craving for attention crumbs in instagram posts,
just one message after the numerous pictures left,
that table. blind are my eyes, darkness, a mirror.
the blandness of my favorite songs anger me more,
even ewúro struggles to describe the essence these ears savor.
& slowly, i haemorrhage into everything
that speaks the language of emptiness.

so i try, i squeeze the rest of me into this poem, with high hopes
life can once again throw seeds of smiles my way,
and true joy can be a lush tree.
that perhaps, adele’s easy on me will unburn into words,
and a poem can once again be a salve,
capable of filling this pit i hold, these elements that eat at me bite after bite.
that perhaps, twitter will not look like a blank paper
& the posts on facebook can once again make my lips twitch
or even stretch out the thirty-six, no, thirty-five stones beneath.
that perhaps I can sleep to wake up & say I had a good night rest.
that’s if anyone asks, did you sleep well?



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