not the third street washeteria

I have learnt the secret to staunching the tears
DEHYDRATION

I wait, listening to the drums spinning
I imagine the rhythmic thumping to be a child’s rubber soled shoe
No need to worry
My soul is labelled non-marking
I will leave no trace of where I have rubbed against your empty cask

How small can a heart shrink?

I call it “strength”
But I know the truth
Constant bumping against the Great Wall
Has caused callouses to grow
Hard, protective, disfiguring

My school colours were black and blue
I wear the bruises under my smile
Occasionally they tumble to the surface of my eyes
Bloated and bloody
But the crescent streak of bleach suffices to distract from the stains

It started out the size of my fist.

When the the door bursts open
With a pop
And comforting sigh of hot air
I observe what is left

I stuff my wilted pebbles back into their sockets
And this blackened lump inside my chest

I call my mother
She still cries
She doesn’t know why
She thinks the tears fall because she has lost a daughter
But I was gone long ago

I left to drain the fluids
And I have been spinning ever since

midnight whispers

Ah, hope, love, hate, deceit
At this time of night
They fade to the shadows
Where they belong
The only things real
Are the electric lights outside my window
And their bulbous reflection in each rain droplet
Thousands of little Bostons
Clinging to the window
They will never get in.
My tears reflect your words.
Sometimes I hate you