this type of thinking
takes me back to those years
when i slogged it out in call centres

i knew of their dependency
on alcohol like wine.
i knew of their pain,
and the passage of their flailing time.

when it’s me,
it’s just me—
this is the way i am.

because, once upon a time,
they gave hope to my dreams,
at tawdry desks,
working hard to facilitate my screams.

living within a fragile shell,
the child of parents,
lost in a poisonous kiss and tell.

pull,
pull up a steady chair.
the world is not in there,
but it is out here.

Time Is Never Enough for brief moments, it feels like the battleships have moved far away, as if we are … More