Habit

Should we meet face to face
Not screen to screen or
Keyboard to keyboard
Uncertainty in the eye of the sender
Picking out an imperfect mark
At thirty-five pixelated paces
Looking for an excuse
To avoid changing my routine
Swiping left for melancholy
But feeling justified in rejection.
Even if she is worth it
One day her face will sag
Wrinkles weather my vanity
With an exasperated demeanour
I’m tiresome, an old git
Never staring into a mirror
For fear of what it might reflect
I can only imagine the face
I used to wear at twenty-five
Wasn’t much of a groomer
Bad habits never scrubbed off
The grime from my pores
Easier to be cynical than dress
Appropriately for the occasion
She holds her drink like she was
Taught to be courteous
This love, a poisoned wine
I think I muttered it forcefully
Enough for her to leave
I’m rational and sober
Drinking tap water
Overgrown strands of hair
Hide the crocodile tears
The bottled up emotion
Slipping through the small
Gaps in between my teeth.
A small submissive ape
Philosophising about being
Misunderstood, when all
I wanted was what I had anyway

 

 

 

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Habit

Root

If a thought remains glued
To the inside of its host for too long
It can become stuck
At first, it teeters
On the tip of a tongue
Longing to descend
Into fresh, warm air
Amongst friends or colleagues
Soon though, it finds itself
Gently pulled back
As new thoughts whizz
Through the narrow window
Of hope. The arable land
Grows quickly
Sprouting offshoots
Stunted deformations
While the roots sink even deeper
Finding veins to infect with
Poisonous abstractions
The host withdraws
Politely declining invitations
To dig at the complex
Formations of tunnels
Scorching each offshoot
Piece by piece

 

 

Root