Verbal injustices

As I look down,

A half squirmish pile of vermicelli

Smothered in sesame seeds

Complimented with steamed peas

Grows into writhing eels with green hats.

Claustrophobically cling wrapped.

She is on her side again,

The purplish grey rings around her eyes

Tell of more fatigue.

She is no longer Iscariot the traitor,

But Jude the betrayed.

A ball of sadness unravels in the stomach pit

And, embodied in the squirm,

Reaches out piercing the cling wrap

Wrapping its seeking tendrils around her neck.

What would it be to put her out of misery?

My eyes are my power.

Walking steadily down the same corridor

I watch the imbalanced liquid in a tea cup

Teasingly swaying from side to side of cup,

I slow down

And then splash out onto the saucer.

This is the life of the resident;

Unsteadily giving and trusting.

‘Don't start yourself too short,
my love
Or someday you might find
your soul endangered
A natural beauty should be preserved
like a monument to nature.’

I quickly place a napkin onto the saucer,

Balancing the breakfast tray on my weak wrist

Weary of one slight millimetre out

My day would be ruined.

Revelation awaited,

The tea seeps across the bleached white napkin

Tainted purity

But all the more beautiful for it.

I live my life as a metaphor,

As an analogy to real life.

But in that I am sated,

Replete

Somnolent with gratification,

Of greedily drinking the sap of life.

-----------------------------------

The cracked outer shell

Is solidifying

But still ink drops

Trapped in water droplets

On the inside.

Seeking anew

Merging

Permeating

With no end.

The wealth of emotions

I learn of late

Are immeasurable in words.

Only Leonard Cohen could do them justice.

As are the relationships built with people,

They are all my lovers

And I revel in my harem of life.

But with a beady, naive eye.

I am the Mexican Hand Tree afterall.