Cornered in a circular room –
illogical as it sounds, on the tip of a toxic tongue.
Breath refusing to be wasted, yearning to be savoured.
Pick the easy option, pleads and pressures the long-term drive.
Choose not to think, collapse on foggy bed, but no sleep joins –
you’re not exactly the best company.
Toss, turn, toss, until rationality resigns himself to the sofa.
Pick the easy option, even if no one else understands.
A single prick can revive exhausted questions, every sigh less stiff.
Who needs to talk when bloody screaming is an option?
Who needs to listen when tissued silence comforts your wounds?
Tripping backwards over feet, crying over dormant memories,
wondering what the colour blue feels like –
write in present tense until you remember how shoes meet ground.
Repainting a personality until value is believable, the brush strokes
take time, but the framing is easy.
Stars strangle cloudy nights yet this pain is so fucking beautiful.
Emotions are now as indecisive as the breeze,
but when it’s past midnight, it’s understandable.
Languid conversations circulate and mingle, pass business cards of loathing;
psychological pandering at its finest.
Close burdened eyes for a minute, body numb as mind, until alarm clock rings.