The Awakening

I was caged by the ink pen you left on your desk,

a pinprick ever so slightly touched to the skin.

Was the beast on the left side of my brain

just you, walking from one shadow to another?

Between the cracks in the pavement,

I saw your eyes staring back at me,

shards of glass,

another mess,

another lifetime,

another tragedy that gawks at me back in the mirror.


Isn’t it funny how sensitive nightlights

wink back at you as you walk on by,

and you- not giving a damn what she’s trying to tell you.

I feel so much today

that my hands weigh me down,

shaking to the ground,

another dog,

another day,

another tower to climb over

as it tumbles down.


Mad hatter becomes me well,

in this lighting,

with the windows down

and the shades drawn in

to the scene around them.

I bleed tea and gin from overseas,

Kafka on his knees

begging for antenna

and holes to dig in.


Where do candle flames go

in the daytime?

To deep forests

where the dragons still dance,

and the moon bruises easily,

and the Holy Grail slumbers,

buried in the tomb of the Vampire King

who is just awakening.

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