I have forgotten what it feels like to live.
My mind operates on degrees of numbness.
My ego exists in limbo.
I meander around feeling like a pair of eyes.
So much so that when people talk to me, I forget I have a mouth.
And when I speak,
Oh how I speak like I have nary glimpsed a moment’s silence.
Filling the quiet is an addiction.
Escaping the moment is like a drug.
Have you ever felt the A/C rain air droplets on your skin?
Have you ever smelled the pages of an old book?
Have you ever tasted spring water?
…
Have you ever held a human’s hand?
Yes, love.
Love again, love again.
We would fill silences together.
…
No?
Then I will retreat back into my daydream,
Wherein I count the ridges of my fingertips
And construct a new dispirited memory.
A memory I will discard at the sight of my melting face.
The high:
Technicolor frizzy hair and phantoms strewn about the room
The dandelion blown before it had a chance to bloom-
That’s me.
And my seeds aren’t even breaking the surface
Like the fruits of all my efforts when I try to do acts of service.
The legacy:
Then, a stain. Let me make a stain.
Let me leave a trace.
So far, my calling card is a hypochondrial histrionic name,
And a very melted coagulated face.
The hope:
If I start again, life will accommodate. Patience and prosperity are only a few cycles away.
A few more cycles of staying hidden. Like a drug.