Tomorrow I should organise my thoughts.
One box for the transience
and one for all that related to conscience
One for her and one for her and one for her!
One for it.
Infinite such tomorrows have gone by
and by all probability go by.
Yet tomorrow might be the day;
when dark things might stop crawling into my bed sheets
when migraines of yore might be washed ashore never to come again.
Don’t wake me up rudely, I hate when people startle me
And you friendly ghost don’t you dare boo at me.
For all who live inside the walls of my room
I have stopped talking to you.
Strangers in my dream god bless you, you may go.
I run towards sleep the only saviour
When the sticky violet hands of the night chase
to tear open my heart to reveal the dawn with streaks of blood.
Clueless I ask the stranger on the side
“Mister, when does the last train to the past leave?’’
I have some unfinished business there.