The Insomniac’s Kitchen


A lone wicker stool intricately cuts in half
the hardened kitchen,softened, by oaken branches
hoarding moonlight, preventing the crystal clear
cups from revealing the faint smudges
left on his face as his breath slowly
fogs a curved reflection, the cabinets creak
and slowly splinter, chipping in disproportionate
patterns connectable only through the dots
of wormhole marks left under their natural stain,
marble counters hide droplets of spilled milk
in creamy camouflage until they overflow their
self created edges with the unbounded salty
abandon of another sleepless night.

Illuimination


Alone, I set fire to
all the lights in my house
and in that illuminated inferno
I still deny myself
the common courtesy of
looking straight, into a mirror
for fear that I may not find
the light inside of my pocketed eyes.

Disorderly


I gnaw on my fingertips,
hunger is the only thing I find filling
my stomach as the anxiety that I had
eaten at breakfast left me shaking.
I grab ahold of my left hand pinning it down
preventing the cutlery inside of it from trumpeting
the return of disorderly thoughts which parade
uniformly in and out of my head as I look on,
a bystander caught in the front line
without having bought a ticket to this grand event,
Excusing myself I cut lines to get a turn at the bathroom
where I keel over, neither giving in to nor conquering
my psychological nausea.

Misguided Step


A single misguided step
found myself lost,
once walking along the shores
of your rocky love yet now
treading violent waters impassioned
with your ire, so I,
I open my mouth for air enough to
call out your name hoping
to find safety but I choke, gagging on
bitter air that has been seasoned
by distrust and set to a heated to boil
burning my throat and sending any hope
of our future together into the sky
vanishing as steam.