2 AM ACHE

It’s a 2 am ache,

Rising sharp at 5 pm,

Like every hour before it,

Like every hour after.

 

In the in-between minutes,

There are heartbeats,

Mingling and distracting

From this punctual vacuum.

 

I swear I deleted your face,

I don’t remember your name,

I can’t recall your smile,

Or your scent or taste.

 

I’ve removed your words,

The brand of your touch,

You don’t laugh in memories,

Because you don’t exist anymore.

 

You never were, never will be,

It was the easiest thing to do,

After a while of being the toughest,

Reached last but finished my race.

 

But then…

There’s the 2 am ache,

An SOS no other radio can receive,

Emitted and caught by atoms in my bones,

On a special kind of stupid loop,

It’s feedback without melodic genius:

This special, non-hummable 2 am ache.

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Calling The Cat Back.

Let’s set the AC at a temperature that freezes my soul. To preserve it from the canker spreading across my organs like pus-oozing sores. What is this pus made of, you ask? Nothing. It is the gagging vomit that heaves up nothing while twisting the stomach inside out.

Turn green, turn green, red of my fucking life, for once turn green.

Everyone wants a piece of control but there is none left to steal.

The larder runs dry. From the cobwebs lining its shelves I sew a dress and then, as an afterthought, cut it up into ribbons. These ribbons I leave in the scorching sun so they turn to dust. The greedy wind takes this dust away to a land of no consequence. Then I start all over again.

Thank God for Mondays!

Did I chase peace out the door like a stray cat? It doesn’t come around anymore. I keep a bowl of milk on the window sill each day, but still no cat, and all I get is spoilt milk.