A poem that rose out of the ashes of an unfinished short story. Unconventional structure. |
Chocolate Isn't Enough I’m standing on the platform As sleepy hands drag themselves through minute after minute I watch the clock. As if with a glare, I can propel those needled liars over the yawning face. My enemy. The chocolates clutched to my chest, Seem pathetic when compared to her, My paragon, my dearest heart. This was a bad idea. I knew it. I knew it. Pimple skinned and stubble-jawed, I stand there. The grime of my room still lingering In my eyes, and on my hands. Never the same since she left. Why would she return? I have nothing left to offer her. Save these melted chocolates and my fumbling, awkward love. Sallow and inferior. The books never say it’ll be like this. I can’t bring myself to read anymore. The lies they perpetrate make me feel Inadequate. Half a man for not living up to The unreasonable, saccharine paradise of ink and paper. The breathless shuttling of the train awakens me. Eyes wide, I mentally scythe Through the legions of red-eyed long-haulers. My first sight of her- the most important. She steps off, her legs as long and mesmerising As the last time I saw them- striding out of my bedroom As I lay in a stupor of my own making. Her eyes, green orbs of inhuman intensity, sweep over the masses. They find me, a dagger to the stomach I would weather A million times more, for the love of her. Inadequate. She calls my name. The chocolates drop from my damp fingers and spill. A single sob escapes my broken lips As I run from the platform into the rain. |