Not a poem

wish I could fold

crumble away

fall apart

held together by willpower

tired

needing an escape

a month, two, six

to someplace where no one knows me and I don't know anyone

not possible

I'm one plus four for years to come

not a bargain, when it comes to breaking down costs of self deception

and so I filter reality through shades

tinted to relieve the pressure of everyday existence

hit and run

corrode

cry away the snap I can hear after the months of separation

erode the perpetual disturbance by the memory

hit and run

I want to crumble

and no... this is not a poem

but an anamnesis of my fucked up self

--

Copyright, Not a poem, I'm feeling cybersexy, Matya Dio, All rights reserved