One more day
wasted in the display
of how time managed
to look good
while running away
from me and from
everyone else
living in the same delusion
as me
I crank up the AC
I crank up the heat
but I don’t feel different
I don’t feel the need to rip
away at my flesh
to gnaw my bones
and turn myself into
a fuming Minotaur
ready to gore the world
on his man-horns
Is it the cycle of distress
and desire blending
into my consciousness?
I call M up, to ask her
for the details of
my pitiful self
She turns down the request
and shoves the receiver
down my throat
from the other end
now it rings
inside my bowels
and I feel like
I have a proper reason
to pity myself.
