You Will Get Tired

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You will get tired.

Of waking up by yourself on frigid mornings,
Toes curled into formlessness by the chill of the air conditioner gone rogue,
Your pillow, the only audience of your previous snoring,
Doing nothing to change the unfashionable loneliness long in vogue.

You will be done.

With miserable lunches spent staring more than tasting,
The menu gone from memory before your body forgets it.
With dinners that perfectly define the wasting,
Of your time and your natural capacity to do more with it.

Alone is the new ‘together’,
Beeping machines introducing strangers who never become friends.
A hundred different ways to say “hello,”
But there’s no app for true contact.

Maybe you will find.

Someone to interrupt your aloneness,
A saving grace as fleeting as a shooting star.
But it will never be enough, that one moment,
And the sooner it passes, the sooner it feels far.

Stay In Your Hole

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You live in a hole but no one knows, the moist soil doesn’t stick to your shoes as you crawl out.

You live in a hole but no one thinks, that sometimes when it rains you wade.

You live in a hole but no one hears, mosquitoes gorged on your blood singing drunkenly.

You live in a hole but no one sees, the wood mites churning the makeshift door into dust.

You live in a hole but no one smells, the earthy scent covered by Calvin Klein’s Eternity.

You live in a hole but no one feels, tears dropping on your bare feet when you hurt.

You’re invisble in plain sight.

Because humans are consciously oblivious that way. Because they can’t muster the strength to care.

Because they think first, second and third of themselves, and others are an umpteenth afterthought.

Because their lives are too important to bother with anything else.

They can’t be bothered, but they can bother God… worry His ears with prayers gone off-track.

And then they play them back, those derailed prayers for wealth and the destruction of apparent enemies.

Selfish, like a stream that flows into itself.

Selfish is the new useless.

Stay in your hole. Heaven will find you there.

Poetry: The Empty Chest Cavity

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Running out on you, running out on us,
Hard to believe what it’s like to be without a heart.
But what gives, love or lesser things (aren’t they all?)?
The beginning of isolation is often warm and fuzzy.

I didn’t hurt you, at least that’s what I’ve been saying,
To myself, my self and those who care to listen.
But I don’t feel whole: something that beats is missing,
I’m the one hurting, instead of you, the one beaten.

Who will I call? No one really picks up these days.
No words, silence screamed at me in a million other ways.
There’s nothing on the other end, a lot in-between,
Darkness, and the fear of a spirit standing in its own ruins.

Wait while I learn to breathe again. No, too much pain,
I’ve been drowning in stale air, my lungs don’t belong.
A shadow shadows my shadow at night, trolling me,
It’s regret, that haunting by the things that won’t be.

Poetry: How I Wake Up

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Morning, the delayed explosion of light from horizon to horizon,
I feel it in my bones, pre-dawn, then finally, sunburst, dawn.
Who’s still asleep? What ruder awakening is there than the birth of glory?
Shockwaves from clavicle to Achilles tendons, my body is eager, mind in unstoppable hurry.

Kick-started, a jumping heartbeat is testament enough.
Where black coffee fails, human nature triumphs.
Earth to body, floor rises to meet unshod feet.
Cold, warm afterwards, feeling is the greatest gift. I sit.

The sheets know my behind, and what’s beneath them, the impression it leaves behind.
Ticking clock. Blinking watch. Glowing phone. Sentinels. Machines are never kind.
Time is running out on me. I should be running out, on time.
I feel bad, like a first time offender caught in the act. Lingering is a crime.

Mirror transfixion, nude reflection flashes smile back at flasher. Clear eyes. Wink.
Up. Climate control out of control. Water, bedside, 9 o’clock. Drink.
Totter, limp, stride. Toilet walk. Stiff, no dangle. Pride.
There’s a need to empty. Liquid content only, for now. Shuffle, drain, jiggle and slide.

Poetry: Like Noah’s Ark Wrecked

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No tongue, I read your lips with mine,
You’ll have none of that, a vampire out to dine.
Switch, teeth in the flesh of my neck,
Wild animals on the loose like Noah’s ark wrecked.

Act 1, Scene 2. I want you, a statement of fact,
But you won’t reel me in until the second act.
You’re a lap dance at a dead party, I’m alive,
But this, who knows how long I will survive?

Bare chest to bare chest, fingertips inches apart,
Cardiac drumming, there’s an African tribe in my heart.
Chaos, flashing spears of telepathic messages: need,
I am become the prey, cornered, you pounce to feed.

Blood spurts, a tropical storm of red,
Your eyes are glazed over. Lust. Dread.
Is this what it feels like to broken? Please, do it again.
This here is a different kind of pain. Make it rain.

Shards: The Leftovers

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Light and shadow, a pseudo-mixture of  darkness and the twilight slipping away. Dysfunction on steroids.

Torn, indecisive, unable to pick a side. The split personality, two warring halves of one unwholesome whole.

Bleeding in the rain, a punctured heart under a punctured sky, vitriol without violence pouring forth interminably.

As desperate as a cry for help, as needy as a motherless child. Mercy, have mercy on one to whom life has been merciless.

And then rage, fueled by hatred. A passion for morbidity, expressed as slashes across wrists and deeper wounds scarring the spirit.

We are our own enemy, the mirror reflects the man pointing the gun. A thousand demons, and we’re not even in Hell. Welcome to the undoing of souls, our own doing.

Poetry: Karo’s ‘Your Kisses Burn’

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Your kisses burn,

Your lips so soft they melt mine.

If I could wake up, I won’t.

You intoxicate me,

I can’t get enough.

If I had a day more,

It would be spent with you.

 

You light me up then burn me down,

No blood left in me,

I’m lifeless,

Pale and white,

Yet I crave more of you.

 

I see you leave,

I know you won’t return,

But if I had a second chance,

I’d die again for you.

I’ll let you kill me yet again,

Bury me in you.

 

You are deleterious to me,

I don’t care.

Let me burn,

Let me go away,

With you, for you.

 

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Poetry: What I’ve Done

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I’m no stranger to failure, and I know success well,
Of my victories and losses I am not afraid to tell.
For I am totally human, and Krypton is not my home,
I have learnt that life is not made of joy alone.

I know of broken hearts and unrequited love,
Of hatred, grief and the peace God sends from above.
I have smelt a booming rose and sniffed a homeless man,
They both have a place in His great big plan.

I have visited my past, through the eyes of the needy,
I relived yesterday and for myself was moved to pity.
I remember the piercing cold, the emptiness in my soul,
The longing for a miracle to make my spirit whole.

I’ve heard rumours of war and walked across a field of mines,
I’ve mediated a truce between me and what was mine.
I’ve given up on memories, my history is in the making,
And I’ll rewrite my future with these baby steps I’m taking.

Poetry: How Perfect Feels

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You are a dream I can’t remember,
Hanging on the fringes of my memory.
You are the month after December,
Thirty days of grace before January.

You are a star in constant motion,
Here this minute and gone the next.
You are an idea or a notion,
And I can’t read you like a text.

You are a wish for something more,
An expectation for tomorrow.
You’re like Band-Aid on a sore,
You cover up the sorrow.

You are the last matchstick it the box,
Without you there’ll be no flames.
You are a clean pair of white socks,
You keep me from being ashamed.

You are a minute before sunset,
Gone in sixty seconds.
You are a beautiful prospect,
A bright future that beckons.

Poetry: Thought Prints

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First, there was me,
All by myself, as solitary and lonely as alone could be.
Longing for company like an only child,
Or like a lion in captivity yearns for the wild.

My thoughts were mine, mine alone,
With no one to tell or share them with.
My playmates were sticks, sometimes even stones,
I longed to emerge like a sword from its sheath.

The presence of my shadow was comforting in its nearness,
Our one-way conversations meant much, in all fairness.
When darkness fell, the whispering wind talked back,
And the value of friendship was conspicuous in its lack.

But then you came along, and everything changed.
All that was familiar assumed the colour of strange.
Life’s mundane theme evolved from prosaic simplicity,
Propelled slowly towards intricate complexity.

Like a spider spinning with painstaking skill,
You reconstructed my world against my will.
Your words and actions are likened to silk,
My thoughts crave you like an infant craves milk.

P.S. The clock says today, but tomorrow is not the same, while this moment was yesterday, the future had changed its name.