Even though I'd taken to keeping it
in the fridge, my alarm went off
at the usual time--just before I woke.
I drew the curtains, divided them
into numbered sections, and coloured
them in with body fluids leaking
from my reservoir of sunken dreams.

I turned on the TV and it shouted back,
complaining that I was underweight,
overpaid and pretty average at sex.
Yeah, well, breaking news: you're not
exactly the epitome of health, humility
and some salacious slur that begins with h
and ends in humiliation when the headlines
fail to match the hubris.

Outside, the world was turning violet
or maybe it was merely the sky burning
in a futile attempt at spontaneous catharsis,
to free itself from spectral oblivion
and run-on sentences that serve no purpose
other than auto-ethereal indulgence.

I thought about calling you
but my voice had broken
into discrete androgynous morphemes
that only my aphasic mother
would pretend to understand.
Besides, I didn't feel up to dealing
with a pack of lies.

On deciding there was more to life
than just living, I went back to bed.

01/31/2015

Posted on 01/31/2015
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom