It’s 2.30 AM
And I’m struggling to find
To questions that have built a home
So deep underneath my skin that
My bones have turned into a basement
From midnight panic attacks,
No better than carpet bombing in a war-torn city.
Yes, I am a city trying to recuperate
From the ghosts of my past
That left bloodstains on the walls
Of my blind alleys.
For when there is a war
Between your rationale and its stubborn counterpart,
You are the muted spectator,
Struggling to make a choice.
In the dark room
Of silent and unconscious movements,
The sighs drenched in stupor are
Like familiar faces in a boisterous party.
And my rugged breath exhaled like melodies
Out of tune
Is desperately trying
To fall in sync.
I’m Alice, trapped in a Wonderland,
With a motley set of minor characters,
Rehashed from drab idiosyncrasies.
For the grin of the Cheshire Cat is waning,
As are the effects of the drink I took a swing of.
This is my Wonderland
And I’ve lost control
Of my realities.
11 February 2017