Silent Scream
I hate, with a hate,
beyond hate--
this bewitching hour.
It un-becomes me,
always catching me,
falling, stalling,
in a rare moment,
when I am most—
me, the all of me,
not caring if I please,
offend, defend or even
care the very least bit
what anyone thinks,
beyond this, the moment,
the space between,
where I might thrive,
catch me if you can,
and, oh, I wish you would,
but the bewitching hour,
has arrived, all too soon,
everyone please,
back to your respected places,
the bell tolls, quickly now,
everyone, snap, snap—
directed here, directed there,
places everyone, lines memorized,
everyone in and out of themselves,
present and accounted for,
landing in, their respective roles,
and I am wholly unable
to respond to this madness,
because inside myself,
I am screaming for a cigarette!
artwork: happy hour by stefano ferreri
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