I’m hungry, but not for food
Thirsty, obviously for blood

My heart aches, but not enough

Tired of it all to say the least

You were the main course. The lion. The centre piece. Beauty in notoriety. Forbidden absolute

A new existence birthed a new identity soaked in a reality which was not reality

Your eyes opened up your sleep-drugged face into the sun and “reality” was awoken

I loved you


But I fell in love with your lips too

How they used to switch curves like their newfound shape told a different story from the “I love you” that escaped from them

How you caused “beautiful” to become identification

Now you don’t even look at me

Like your sharp tongue feels too precious to remember what my name even tastes like

Yesterday when you said you loved me, your mouth was a straight line

But I’m the one with OCD and I never had to wash my hands after I touched you

Do you think about the things you say to me?

Words drenched in egocentricity

Words that sink deeper than anchors

Words that lay the dirty foundation for your actions

You were Madiba. Ghandi. Stalin. King Midas incarnate

No! King Midas would turn in his grave with envy

But your lucid dream injected a new meaning into the veins of false awakening to cause a repetition in history

Its identity unhidden

Ungrateful negligence

I could not claim surprise

I give you permission to continue in your slumber

The next time your eyes embrace the sun, extend my hello to the single pillow print

Don’t get confused: this is not a cry for help

This is the wake-up call that you keep pressing the snooze button on

I just want to know this: Why are you still sleeping on me?

#A F I A


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