Kafka On My Cuffs

I often notice that night 
Is right time for one to fight with oneself

You are naked with brittle bones
And the heart floats, like stone 
Upon the impalpable air,
Buried in your body
With a weight, as you wait,
For the world to surrender 
To bow down as you beg
For the light to be shined in your eyes
For water to be passed through your lips:
A concrete kiss
Of traffic light love
And 9 to 5 passion
So that you may be seen
Laughing, smiling, walking, talking
Along the chorus of the human hummus 

The room is a soap bubble
Ready to erupt
They watch me as I speak
A monologue 
I oar on speechless sunshine 
A mute morning
Born out of 
Borrowed solace and forced silence 
Like a wall with paintings 
Having no need to be owned
To be entombed or embalmed
With stories other than my own
Yet unable to 
Deny the desire 
Of loving the smell of lit matchsticks 
While afraid of its fire

Men must not talk of their mental health 

I cut my photograph with scissors 
The outline cherry red
From the bleeding background 
For it hurts to be left alone
Even in the past
It dismembers the delusion
My silhouette without shape
A broken geometry 
Held together by tape
Of a world within with a world without 
Snow sealed
Half peeled
Body bagged
Soul killed 

Most of us mimic
The same mistake
And get better with time
At convincing oneself 
That mistakes were truly mistake 
And they happen
Around Gravity’s girth
Like a natural law for unnatural things

I too mimic
Practice and perfect 
The moment of my death
The last words
That final thought 
Fear, Anxiety, Regret and Fate
Should I go closing my eyes
Or will the irony of the effort suffice?