When it counts …

I pursue a feeling that my usual desires don’t encounter

A prayer aching for its ending

A song numbed by its chorus

A body improvising theatrical notes

So I could hush an orchestra and be compelled by a strangers eyes

To free myself from the one I have inhabited for a lifetime


Yet it feels as if I pin my skin onto other bodies

As if that would make my lamentations amble peacefully in an inverted sky

But I am disfigured by anticipating crossing the threshold of tolerance

Then beauty glitches over my body and each god damned narrative is consumed

By this feeling of emptiness concocting fulfillment which thrives on the scent of fire

Still, before I atrophy, I wonder how it feels to exchange memories for prayers.


My mind

My heart

Crumble like china on a rocky surface

Becoming a poem

That makes me want to know how it feels to crawl into oblivion

Or be reduced to the fatality of anticipating a kiss in an afternoon drizzle


But the saddest part is

I am a box of matches

An inferno

Possessing a terrible memoir of imploding love

Which when tasked to kill, only paralyzes with imprints of forever

Encased in a concrete box in the heart’s museum of unfulfilled feelings


©Eddy Ongili 2016


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