Tripping Once Too Many

 

now even your mails have begun to disappear on their own from my inbox

i’m serious this last one of yours was very much there when i checked last

only this morning at dawn when i checked again for new mails and there were none

i realised yours was missing too, the one I had hoped to reread now

i let my new phone be and gazed at the ceiling at those names painted estranged

rilke, rimbaud, nietzsche, ghalib, marx, shakespeare, hegel, wittgenstein, kafka

estranged for they were hollow empty worth, smudged black paint dripping dread

what of the wind? of the summer? stale so bitter and starched, peeling whitewash powder trash

darken lights, sunlight chimes, birds brimming chirping in delight

what of sleep you had asked me i remember distinctly in your last mail

what of sleep if you keep staring at the abyss and the abyss keeps staring back at you all night

nausea pungent smelly urinal inviting throwing up disgust deep into its hole

right pop out of slyvia plath’s poetry that you read out to me, screeching to a halt, i

like after a scary nightmare that fizzles from sight, breathing panting drained all out