I am interrupted from my “peace” every day,
not from a single someone,
or many “someones,”
but it is my single self,
my single thoughts,
angst and trepidation,
all livid and over-exaggerated.
There are some
that possess the gallantry
to challenge these judgments.
Like the shimmering dawns,
they battle the darkness that
once floods the plains of imagination
and sorrow.
And every window that carries a rose tint
and somehow presents the entirety of the human race
in a such a glamorous but vacant way;
a desolate promise
that embraces no such honesty,
but cradles you,
bathes you,
in such vivid feasibility.
Is it only me that senses its
oh so apparent scathing tone?
It kissed me last night;
pressed its blistering lips
in mocking, cataclysmic manner
against my generally damp cheek.
It was one of the days where
it delivers me pleasure.
It seductively stroked my skin,
exposed me,
made me feel wanted,
but as I reached out to return the passion,
it violently shoved me to the ground
and left me,
vulnerable and raw,
my only choice but to keep enacting the common obliviousness
and to keep marching on…