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rain hits the window like a sucker punch
and i am unsuspecting, staring outside at the smokers
and the bus terminal, picking up and dropping off;
people, united and brilliant as though there
is a sense of togetherness,
a sense of direction, however transient and fleeting.
we are here together,
crossing the parallels of dependence and
autonomy. we are all alike,
smiling and talking to each other, not making eye contact,
breath fading,… mixing and fading into the winter smog,
passing through bodies like holograms.
our touch is unseemly.
i shed my skin into a cup of lukewarm coffee
and write my secrets with lemon juice
and an over-worked ballpoint pen into
a small black journal of failures, meticulous notes of
insomnia and stories of madness.

these days when i sleep, i sleep with the radio on and
close my eyes trying to drown out the image of what your skin feels like
with cacophonous ramblings,
a head banger’s lament.
i dream about your voice
whispering to me in vapours.
i dream about the streets and how it made me
crawl in a child-like search for your affection
only to find myself awoken, covered in dirt, rocks and
this unnerving sense that i am alone with myself, atop my mattress
with no frame
my tiny room with one window,
the blinds covered, cloth and unmistakable.

the rain falls into my hands, the universe spilling
from my sides, hits the pavement, drowning rome in my heartbeat.
lifetimes of loves and lovers scorned,
come knocking at my door
and i have no answers for them.

– r.f.g

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