Fraud

I don’t deserve it.

“You look like you need it.”

          A cherry flavoured kiss.

I still taste you on my beard.

A door knocks.

         An ancient bird that taps.

Shadows close in on me.

          The mouse-trap with red velvet cake.

You don’t deserve anything.

          It snaps. It recoils.

This is how a dream breaks,

And I’m relieved.

You were never real.

          It was all given to you,

          And now you return to take me back.

I laugh at your audacity

“Papers, please.”

I was never here in the first place.

There is a beauty in surrendering.

© A.R. Minhas

I Hear Things And I Feel Nothing.

“I have shared secrets with you…”

“Oh Dead Mother!”

“Come have your pills. Depression doesn’t look good on you.”

“It’s just a coincidence that you wore red today.”

“I’m masturbating in public!”

“…And let’s abort this thing.”

“And why do you care that our generation is the worst?”

“You didn’t taste that way before…”

“And I’m learning more about you. Every time we feel each other.”

“Just remember– The Dream of a Green Sunday.”

“Meat has turned raw, my existence is a tragedy.”

“White-Chocolate Cheesecake is the escape, and I feel nothing for you.”

“There was love once…wasn’t there?”

“I think and there was an illusion.”


(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

A Weekend In Spider Country

I’m here

Sitting by the lake

If you can see me now

What do I have to lose?

 

If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t matter

If I’m not here it wouldn’t change you

It wouldn’t change the crystal clear water

 

There is nothing that I can do

Lying here impotent

On red Muskoka chairs

 

No matter how far I travel

Or where I sit

It doesn’t change

 

This unease

I can never get comfortable

 

Feeling useless isn’t unique

But feeling nothing

Is okay

 

Spiders crawling

Bedspread

I try to bleed them but they keep coming back

 

Nesting in my ears

You can hear them

 

 

Constructing a web

Trap the flies

I wish I could trap your eyes

Stroke them with honey

 

This sugar is for you

 

 

And there’s nothing left for me.

Leaving, wouldn’t matter

 

Staying

Is suspended mid-air

 

Floating

 

Spiders make me uncomfortable

 

And that’s why I can’t sit still.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017