Eleven Hours
the room smells like
a foul mix
of Play-Doh and urine
light the midnight oil
to diffuse the smell
your fingers are all
gray, black and green
beneath their tip
one too many vices
pulled apart and packed up
you forget the problem
packing it up
reluctant to admit
that you gave a hand
in your enforced isolation
natural behaviors aside
you pushed until you received
the gifts of the city
her blessing of vanishing
into the mists of transport
and the walls of brick
slipping past others
giving a hardened, wary eye
as they pass unphased
you allow a small sigh
to wrestle free from those lips
moistened and needy
it hits the air unheard
but it makes you feel
as if you could scream
like you could kill off everything
and this thought is settling
in an uncomfortable way
your stride never breaks
though every muscle is aching
you’re convinced you’re suffocating
but your face doesn’t alter
to signal your distress
it’s early still, yet you know
this will be the shape of today
the gears have been set
spiraling out of your control
there is nothing more enraging
than a forced impotency
you must accept
you know nothing is ever really
under your sway
it can be a full-time exercise
to pretend to play
straighten your back
today isn’t the day
control the anxious energy
tackle the required hours
until you’re safe back home
dream of when
your ritual will commence
the debilitating love-affair
you can’t willingly end
the Arian apathy has taken its hold
killing and wasting
when it’s allowed to sit
burning away