I had one too many yesterday, popped pills like I was
scattering dimes on the dinner table, laying them bare,
I smoked a pack of Marlboro Red like I usually do,
flicking the half-smoked cigarettes into the rotten,
weed-strewn patch of land that haunts the left side
of my cracked wallpaper, slightly jaded house.
I stood on a balcony that’s barely holding up like
an oxygenated man needing tubes and needles,
I watched the honeydew sunset with dilated
pupils, drifting in and out of a lazy reverie –
a blurred door in the distance with misty vines
creeping over it, the cobbled path like fish scales,
coalescing now and then. I was half-running, half-stumbling,
but without fear, I tried
getting to the door but suddenly woke up
only to find myself beginning again.
I stood in my thrift store shirt
and track pants, unwashed, unclean
and unattended to. I guess there’s a sense
of freedom in a slightly reckless abandonment
or a partial hedonism.
I didn’t need you at that moment and
I don’t need you now.
I didn’t love you at that moment and
I don’t love you now.
I didn’t feel you at that moment and
I don’t feel you now.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2019)