I pretend to fall asleep
When your message rocket launches its way to my phone.
My head is hazed
With powder blue clouds,
Keeping me dangling between sleep and waking silence.
I try to tip the balance one way
But realise I’m leaning the other.
And the scale growls at me,
Asking me to make up my mind.
Your message buzzes next to my ear,
A bee sweet-drenched in nectar.
I clamp my petal eyelids
And beg you to understand.
My thoughts are ICU weak
And my fingers clumsy.
See,
I can’t possibly reply.
Wait for the morning’s coherence to shower me.
After I take a cool rain bath to begin the day,
And fight sleep in the car-ride to where I ought to be.
Then, maybe I’ll read your satellite message from space.
May your oxygen tank last you the night,
Because I am terrible at CPR,
My skills work like an old model CPU.
I tend to blow in CO2.
You and I both know
That I could undoubtedly kill you.
Still, you rocket launch text messages
At eleven PM
Knowing that I can’t always pretend to fall asleep.
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
