There’s a bottle of my mother’s love
Sitting on the kitchen table
It’s gone sour
It’s Sunday morning,
In the piercing comfort of a place
I once would’ve called home,
And the world woke up and walked out on me
The aftermath of July grows right outside my bedroom window
While I sit on a desolate strip of imaginary sand,
With my head in a water cooler
As significant as an ill-fated horsefly
The abject horror of it all
Existing in my corner of the world
With salt-and-grease-stained fingers
My memories mistake me for a little old man
And they come to entertain me in my wicker chair
It is a bleak day, with the weight of a mallet in my hair
And there’s not a stutter in my stare
Spare me the bills of this rich unease
Why does everything have to be so sad?
You see,
I seem to have caught
The deathly hug of hubris
I know everything,
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
Time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And when I can think of nothing else
I am a dead rat, in a scientist’s fat hand
Being extorted past the boundaries of life
What’s supposed to be happy,
Dancing? Laughing?
Oh I’ll do those, I think
Because,
Why does everything have to be so sad
I’m a minute away from misery
Smiling at a thick, drowsy sky
And all I want is to be so, so happy
Written by Radhika Krishna for MTTN
Featured Image Outside the Beach Cafe by Mark Briscoe
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