Between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Head in the unlit stove.
It was no accident.
You meant for it to happen. Why did you?
The ring of the telephone in the night,
That gruelling sound reverberating in my stomach
Every time I think of you.
This dread you gifted me.
An idiom in avalanche, reaching for the climax.
A perverse twist of fate that conjoined my lot
To the choreography of sphinxes pulling at your mind.
A compulsive gambler
I am done with the ephemerid assurance of a mask-strapped face,
Fumbling blindly for the tassels of your cloak until my fingertips wrinkle.
Drowned at the bottom of a glassful of crushed aspirin,
A groundless probabilistic miscalculation,
The scars of desire.