hey doc, you got something for stress? a bitter pill to swallow help me abscond from the constant work  like putting boundaries in & performing the classic: adult balancing act! i need a modern intervention…  a medical miracle! like ozempic but for therapy in the lingo of this new pharmaceutical century it’s not a cry for help, just a little potion  one to manage the many  medical problems &  often corresponding  physical responses i feel i could benefit from a drug that knows me better than i know myself something to excise the spirits settled deep into the crevasses weaving some magic to line the haunted labyrinth  of my own mind,                 body,          & soul but doc, enough about me! how’re you?

i am a kaleidoscope tube. the insides of me change at the mere twist of any small shifts in my life. i am a jumble; the contents are the same but the makeup is different. every little trauma, a shiny sequin i have collected on my way. each day, a turn of the tube: a new pattern, a different way of it unfolding.

a cruel sense of fate always out of place my compass spins  for a needle that is buried in other sovereign states distance is the only address  my friendships seem to keep with letters that are written  but never mailed held in everyone’s mind but no one’s afternoon i am the part of the dream  forgotten in the morning

what we pay for the small pleasures in life changing the trajectory of the journey — that’s the cost of choosing

monday mornings a revolving door of routine playing russian roulette with a bullet clenched between pearly teeth— white–faced in the mirror  with my internal risk register analysing the control measures of another 50 hour sprint & how to endure the work week ahead acquiescent, i conform  into the sharp corners  of corporate compliance wearing dribs of drab attire  drifting in the wake of dirty air rustling feathers, watching  peacocking suits speed running tetris slotting blocks of meetings into calendars that compete for time on the clock  with “yes” men behind the scenes men patting on the back men acting like hitmen managing liabilities through concrete shoes & contract killings lead upper cuts & brass knuckles while i patiently wait my fate the high likelihood & potential impact for the next restructure  to be— my face

they say that love is a series of decisions but they never seem to elaborate on the part where the heart writes checks the soul can’t cash

we broke bread spread ourselves too thin on the burnt edges of the morning rinsed the bitter from the grounds left in the cup of our communion

i could finally let my internal compass  take my hand                          and guide me

collecting cuts  from fistfuls of shattered stars razor sharp tongues across  the shards of windowpanes  wrapped up in white satin gloves distorting into gauntlets  protecting broken hearts from the mesmerising fall over the balcony, watching the bottom of my beginning admiring priceless ruby swarvoski teardrops accenting the hems sewn inbetween the blood diamonds  of our past conflicts & disagreements fractured past seeping through slits in seams just in time to powder my nose  gracefully exit my existence & pretend i can battle through this

can’t tell if it’s ’cause  i’m missing you, or if i’m failing to find  my purpose inside of me

twine of time twisted left hanging by a thread by the spinning of our sins in your eye, i’m calm  now drifting across international waters swallowed whole by torrential backwash  enmeshed in regret

my ring slid over your tongue pressed love right between my lips slinking crushed velvety pillows between my thighs; slid the bolt across my gates, caged me  like your dirty whore, sealed up little tears & kept me as your blowup doll left in the depths of your closet  (more of a tip than to hang suits in) now more detritus than sexual thrill & still i dream of you using me when you want a little high lit in the soft moonlight of your own mattress with half a sheet on the bed pumped up with love again

you left me with two habits addictive and all consuming but the one that will linger for my lifetime; the unbreakable reminder of you

wind licks its lips reminding me of the  inescapable voracity of life tempting me with  an amuse bouche of challenging my borders to smooth the edges of my peaks and troughs  navigate the x and y axis to soar, not fall that life could be worth  devouring whole  as if I was forgetting  the mindfulness practice of  being grateful & staying humble instead; overindulging to avoid the interrogation of my inner monologue letting the salt tell its own stories — rather; lull in a soft moment  of solitude with my soul seconds standing perfectly still letting the warmth glaze over like self saucing pudding savouring each course showcased on the carte du jour

i now spend days sitting alone  in the empty playground of my mind

i hopelessly fall back into warm reminders of you again