My life – is it hell do you think?
Is it up in flames.
What have I built?
A house of cards. Why? Because it will fall
Inevitably.
Like the concrete jungle I admire
and
worship in the ungodly temple. Flames of destruction. Or flames of neglect, you put us through.
Who is “us”? I don’t know. I can’t remember. I prefer to stay silent. Silence is a right. Except when,
of course,
you are a politician. In that case, I demand a response. To my pleas. To my screams.
Why is life hell? Is a fable from above? However is only for the few? Are we suddenly all Jehovah’s Witnesses? That can’t be…
We’re human
Aren’t WE??
Where is my mythical muse? Hiding under the cupboard
where my cup of salvation lies.
Pack of lies.
My brain is full. Feed me. Empty it.
What is this squandering of words? Forsaken me. Why did you forsaken me?
Last night. Scruples. Why weren’t you there? No alcohol. I can’t think tonight.
Chamomile. Tea.
What a relief.
A mute cat.
That is my muse. But he is mute.
Fire. “Where?” In my head. Thoughts unspoken. Too loud. Am I clear? No. I don’t know how to stop.
(The mumbling)
The latest. I am a nuisance. No more explanations. I am tired. I am wiped out.
I forgot what I wanted to write.
Good night.
The Teapot and the Postbox 