Telling tales to children.
He sits on his armchair
And narrates to them
Stories that used to be real.
He bites on his chewing stick
And spits into the sand,
His voice rising and falling,
His chest heaving with emotion.
Wooing a lady.
He stands for hours
Confessing his love for her.
Feelings which disappears
As he gets home
And smells the aroma of food
While playing games with his friends,
Cursing and screaming profanities.
Running around naked.
The chase termites around,
Catching and frying them
After a rainfall.
They eavesdrop adult’s talk
With their red ears
Raised like a rat’s,
When they’re not crying for food.
Whispering to her friends.
She tells them the
Secrets of her adventure.
Forbidden words not to be spoken
To the hearing of another.
They giggle in happiness,
Covering their mouths
With their hands.
Moaning in pleasure.
I stare as I indulge in nothingness,
Screaming in ecstasy,
Basking in little sins.
I walk around the ruins
In the afternoon.
I sleep close to the damage at night,
Snoring with reckless abandon.
This is one of those poems I write half conscious. I let my mind do what it wants while my fiingers play with the words.
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