GloMag GloMagApril2020 | Page 280

I drink the syrups of irritation And swallow these uncomfortable waves... The air around me is thick and grey. I gulp down half-broken words And utter incomplete epithets. I run, I escape I withdraw myself to the corner And shut the doors of my thoughts With the oblivious lock of slumber. I close my eyes. I wish this comfort stays with me. 280