I. Am. Not. 

  

I. Am. Not. 

With those words, could I cease to be?

Would that taut thread we walk, between today and tomorrow

Tatter into nonentity?

Do the separate organs of body too rebel?

Do my muscles know when I tell

Stories, or do they just guide the words, unconcerned

Have I inked only paper? Or has my flesh 

My tendons, my cartilage also

My stories learnt

Are my nuclei content to divide and multiply 

While I lay here, staring at the ceiling in the dark 

Do the cells in me that are reborn know what it is to die 

Half new, half hastily repaired parts 

My arm twitches, lying across my forehead 

My chest heaves with unspeakable things 

Can my alveoli taste the sour tang of fear too? 

Or oblivious, they function imperturbably 

They do not choke on inspiration, as I am wont to do

I. Am. Not. 

Not after tonight 

Oh, my body will still exist 

My skin will wrinkle, my joints will creak

But this hollow left inside, I’d gambled for this 

And I lost 

My axons will revel 

In their tallying synapses 

What never has been can leave 

No lapses 

But I’ll always know how much 

I’ll miss 

©CM 

20.02.2017

Prague 

  

The snow was gray 

Even as it fell 

Ashen snowflakes settling 

With the rusty peals of dusty bells

Gargoyles leering, the spires towered over me

As I stood in a quiet lane through

The middle of my abandoned city

Tongue out, tasting the bitter flakes  

And the ghosts followed me softly 

From the corners, damp and mildewed 

I lead them, I don’t know where 

Somewhere where the snow softer spreads

Under our feet

It is white

It is quiet there

And we are not defeated 

By that lurking within our heads 

We populate 

This city of the dead

With its dull snow and arid rains

Where memories spiral high against 

A horizon, yet near, of pain

One day

I will walk away from this place 

Proud and unbroken

If not untarnished, in me

The old world still remains

Prague 

©CM

19.02.2017

Whore 

  

A whore is pointed at 

Not because she sells herself, but

Because she sells herself for 

Far less than she is worth 

Not because she lets a strange man

Paw her breasts for money 

Sweat on her face, grunts between her thighs 

She’s not bad because she’s ‘easy’

We all have prices 

We all have sold ourselves in

Different ways

At different rates 

Some more than others 

But we all get paid eventually

A different wage 

And sometimes

You have to whore yourself

For a lesson learned that 

Will not be forgotten

Can not be denied 

You lie naked on the floor

Next to a man you thought 

you knew like your own skin

And you realize 

That if the price you paid

Was respect lost, then

That price was altogether too high 

Whore
©CM 
14.02.2017

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. 

Half Past Four 

 

Wax work, soft 

imitation of life 

Posed on a pedestal 

Paused with infinitesimal 

Care 

Every inch measured

Every vein contoured 

To be frozen, decorational,

There 

You left me

To be lifeless all day

Almost real to touch, they sing

Who would’ve thought such a thing 

-so real, just see
But I stay mute, expressionless, on the floor 

Till they fall into little deaths of sleep, at

Half past four 

In that stillness

I breathe 

©CM

12.02.2017

Don’t wait for the night, to come to life. These days are no one’s but yours… 
❤ 

Hercules

20140730-185407.jpg

 
I don’t know how you are so brave
How everything that bruises you leaves so
un-touching-ly
You smile that secret smile and carry on
As though you weren’t stopped, but you’d paused
And now you were walking on again
Not crippled, just resting one leg
Not sad, not aching
As if you hadn’t built that house of cards so
pain-staking-ly
Then you listen to me
And you laugh
And I forget what I was even angry about
Because you are so brave
So in-defeat-ably
That just the aftertaste of you is strong
enough to
make-me-see
Courage is as much about not mourning
as mourning
everything-that-could-not-be-saved
Or
Loving that fish,
Respecting a donut
Not wearing underwear on principle
Waking up early on thursdays to shave
And just as much shrugging
nonchalantly,
making a wrinkly nosed face, and
carrying on, because you are
that brave

 
Hercules

(c)CM
10.02.2017

Half Past Three

 

I love you unbelievably
As though it is a still life that I’m
Drawn into a corner of,
There’s cities and wars and happiness
And there’s you in it too
with no
Beginning nor end in sight

As though oceans skim the meaning,
Existence touches the surface
And the faint specks of black in your eyes are
The depths of years and years of nights

I love you so indistinguishably from
Any fathomable stretch of imagination
The roots are lost in incomprehension
I look around but
I don’t know how I got here

The stars settle in the creases of your smile
Absences and evanescences deny me
Immolation
Or absolution
It’s not clear

What are emptinesses? What are seas?
What are galaxies between you and me?
When it’s dark and unnaturally silent, and the wind is digging its teeth into my hands, and yet
You’re still the most real thing to me at half past three
There’s a moon somewhere, or time, or cigarettes
And I look at you, and always feel a little breathless
Or maybe they all burn the same way away undefeatedly

But it’s half past three
And it’s not clear
How I got here
But I love you
Unbelievably

 

 

 

Half Past Three

©CM

07.02.2017

 

 

These winter nights.. You can’t blame me. 🙂

 

Half Past Two 

  

Sometimes, words come to you at two thirty in the night. 

You don’t know the words yet. They hover just beyond the edge of consciousness. Half of them you want to attribute to epiphany. Half of them you know belong to a fever slowly coming down. 

Words. They grow like that, sometimes. 

And you find yourself leaving a comfortable bed, shrugging off a warm blanket that you suddenly can’t breathe under. And you know that it’s simultaneously too hot there, yet too cold and too empty to be lying in, all of a sudden. And the one warm body that could possibly make any of this livable is so, so far away at that moment. You can’t change that. Sometimes, he won’t even let you change it. 

Bodies. They rebel like that, sometimes. 

So you walk out to the porch, staying on the dark side, the one the harsh streetlight hasn’t stained golden yellow. You sit on yesterday’s newspaper that the wind threw to the floor, and you learn against the wall. You’re not sleeping, you’re wide, wide awake. The dream like quality of all this is painted deeper by the words that your heart promises will come. Sometimes they do come that way. But words are capricious, occasionally on purpose. They like to needle, to hurt a little, and watch the game play out. 

Hearts. They’re much of the same. They hurt like that, sometimes. 

This night’s chill is not good. My feet are wet from the dew, and I’m coughing again. Morning will be work, no more sick days left. And yet I’m loathe to leave this bare boarded surface, where the splinter is digging under my thumbnail. Boards are not meant to gripped for comfort. 

But neither are nights. And the edges of this one are painted with promises, and words, and the hope of a warm body who will look at mine and smile, and his heart won’t be capricious even when mine is. And till the moon goes down and the stars fade away, this breathlessness will stay with me, because none of that might happen, but the words still might. Sometimes, they do that. 

Twilight and trees, sleepless eyes and empty hearts. They come together like that, sometimes. 

My heart is so full, that I may burst

At the seams of my being, but yet 

I can’t kill this thirst

I walk this knife edge, veins 

Alight with madness 

Feverish wanderings compelling me

To gamble the dredges of sanity 

Tiptoeing reality, tonight

It’s not hard to do 

Speaking in the silences

I lie in the one place you’ll never be

And I watch for you 

Half Past Two 
©CM 

02.02.2017