It was because of the movies,
It was because of the books.
I thought life owed me
But loneliness infects you.
And you get used to not being noticed.
And you get used to not being heard.
And conversations between the entity become more interesting.
Consuming THC in ungodly amounts,
I prefer the backseat of the car
And I won’t open the fucking windows.
I want to be ether.
I want to observe you from a distance.
I am numb to your slapstick comedy.
“Maybe it’s perfume?”
Salt-water tears, after taste of a cigarette.
That’s how you make dark honey. Sticky like blood.
And though I’ve never experienced you,
I wrote a dream sequence in a webbed cave.
If you only knew this maybe you wouldn’t squeeze my chest.
I tried to call out for you
But I never gave you a name.
Your form metastasizes.
And that leaves me nothing.
(c) A.R. Minhas 2021