read – Page 4 – Daydreaming as a profession

she looks up at me with 
eyes hidden, almost locked,
behind 
thick bars of hair
that reaches all the way to 
her small nose

Hair discolored like
dry straw,
second in paleness only
to her ghostly face

She doesn’t stare too much
because there 
are other things to see
in the room

She moves 
on. Not 
knowing that I also stared
at her. Into her soul

I’ve spotted an unquenched
cry there

The easiest to
recognize is the cry of loss
and that’s what I saw there

paired with
the cry of want

She wants to get away
from here
Far, far away. She wants to go
and never stop. Wants
to travel into 
forever

and I’d like to
take her 
there

But alas,
I am stuck here onto
this wall

frozen in time

I'm a static 
painting

And my cold
words 
void of any vibration
will never reach her

I have to make my peace
with it. Yeah, some
people just don’t read
poetry. And even if
they do, what are the chances 
they’d read mine? 

Wow, what a fool I can be at times
But, well, at least
I have my dreams
and myself to laugh at 

You don’t need much else
in eternity

again she grabs a stool and places it into the corner of the room, climbs on it, assumes the lotus position and closes her eyes and covers her ears with headphones She faces the corner The voice that speaks into her headphones starts a countdown Meanwhile her father shakes his head as he watches her “You can’t be serious,” he says. “Are you meditating again to ask God to make life fair? Is that it? What happened? Was your Uber late? Internet connection slow? Heheh!” She doesn’t hear him. The voice in her headphones says, “And twist. Remember to always twist. If you only stab him it’s not enough. That’s just gonna do a little damage that can be fixed with a quick visit to the ER. You have to twist the blade. That’s when the significant damage happens. Twist as much as you can. Show no mercy. Take advantage of the fact that he will not expect this from you.”

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