“I love you”,
Whispered the cool morning air to his tired ears,
And the air made romantic connection with his skin.
Makes him think about romance,
And the hopeless romantic he is.
It’s a Monday,
He’s so mundane.
He looks at the grass growing long in the yard,
Maybe it needs a cut.
But why rob a being of a life it deserves?
Why decapitate something so green and vibrant?
Why care about grass?
Succumbing to suburban cabin fever,
He locks the doors and quietly decomposes,
There’s nothing better to do,
It’s a Monday,
And breakdowns are all the same,
Breakdowns over breakups,
Making light over making up,
But she’ll never take you seriously again,
No one will ever take you seriously again.
He’s attached to the dream that it’s all just a vivid nightmare,
And in that dream he wasn’t too scared that he’d lose his hair,
Someday he’ll get over it,
But someday he should get over himself.
Look in the mirror,
Look in the sink,
Look in your own eyes,
Now stop to think.
How many times have you scrawled “I’m fine”,
With shaky hands and bloodshot eyes?
Erratic, problematic, melodramatic,
Three words to describe you, your hopes and ambitions.
You coward, you hummingbird,
Flying away from your problems to a numbed state of mind,
Beating your wings faster with every lap of hell as you spiral down,
Chirping a song that’s only met with deaf ears.
A song of tragedy,
Of unreturned love,
Of monsters,
Of a man running away from himself,
Of a man blurring the line between life and death.
By Jacob Nasr
