I write in a borrowed tongue

I write words
In a borrowed tongue
And try to satisfy the incessant
This void
This hollow space which
Cries itself to sleep
every evening and
stays up wondering
silly things
at night..
of cutting paper
boats into pieces and string
skin desert on her arm.

Cry me a river, baby.

Of unleashing a bloody river as
Long as the Nile. Crystal drop Blues.
Of losing a strand or two;
Of Inheriting the Plath-
ian lost jar.
Over the bridge of
Suffering world
The trees and bushes of golden red;
Legs dangling on each side,
‘I feel alone’
She cries.

There’s an open tap
Somewhere; dripping to the tune
In her oily head.
She says she
Feels alone playing
With her hair.
She feels alone
Painting her walls shut.
She feels alone
Singing to herself.
She feels alone
Doing everything else.
She calls to the moon,
To take her away.

Come Moonface, take me away.

The streetlamps and her
Tears flicker.
She’s made the decision.
Let’s close myself.
It’s time. It’s time.
To close oneself
And float in this peaceless space.

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