Come, have a seat!

Would you like to sip from the glass I just have had drank water?

Or shall we begin without it?

In my dreams I became mad too many times,

in reality too –

Now when I clasp your cold hands,

see your stoned eyes, I don’t look back.

You administer my paranoia but defy it as well.

I’m no longer the subject of your dreams

but in my dreams I’m a subject

of my anticipated madness.

I’ve fallen in love with you

for the same reason

I fell in love with many:

to nurture a future promise.

You say you’d keep it well,

once I’m gone in frenzy

and enter madness:

you’d come with new clothes,

clip & trim my hair

and cut my nails,

not that it’d make any difference to myself

but it’d make you register your presence

in the black hole which my mind is –

Now when I touch your warm hands,

I feel like chopping them off –

I fancy forgetting

my mud-covered-lavishly-cheap sandals

and walking on your bare chest,

I fancy forgetting

the time when I opened my legs

for a lover thinking

‘that’s not the man to do the job’,

I fancy inventing

a machine that can induce

forceful-forgetfulness

like the electric shocks creep

through your nerves

to bring you back

to the world of the sane,

I fancy destroying

that machine, this machine

and any other machine,

I fancy losing my numb agonies and crying in hysteria –

But now when your warm hands don’t move

when I can’t chop them off your body

which desires to peep in the black hole

that my mind is –

I sit here, silent and stoned.