Arkham Asylum

each day is different

it’s as if I moved from one cheap hotel to another

right from the entrance into the room, the tapestry more and more decrepit

seems to defy the border where blood meets the fiction of a anemic light bulb

luring darkness with its flickering I am seeing the empty half of the bed as a trap for bears

with a beating heart I am telling myself that it’s suffering from claustrophobia and I close

my eyes hoping that the next morning will pierce through the greasy windows

the difference between motels

are the neighbors ever friendlier with an insatiable libido

for satisfying the ignorance and I am thinking that the wings without will

are like an airplane without fuel but what’s the use if the sky is merely the point

that they point to smiling

a new motel room I open the door

I always look over the shoulder for fear of being robbed or stabbed

I am not worried about amateurs but professional thieves who migrate

with you to the warmest and safest place

I go in I feel like a stranger at my own funeral

man black inside dressed in a white suit I am holding tight my own hand

I will let the old me count the bars on each blood cell

that died for a noble cause

this heart is born again

and this is how I woke up