Gathered for the meet,
the daily awaited greet.
Gland renewal blockage,
blows it all over my cheek.
In the corner of these eyes,
spoiling your expression bleak.
Ribbed textured nails grow thin,
so fragile and yet unbreakable,
I’ll chew them to their rim.
Promising you’ll be better,
for yourself,
for him.

You can’t win.

Turn it off.
Let it dim.



© Aish