18th

Nighttime in Barbès, skipping a beat

A certain pitch of black, a particular heat

And my head is throbbing

I can feel them out there

Sense your stare

The glass broken on the floor

I take a second to sweep the crumbs of your traces

Oh nighttime thief! You’re as elusive as the rising moon

Soon

The sky is pouring white leaves and paper trees

A Persian rug adorns my shaky knees

And now as I go, remember me by my ash stains

How I barely catch trains

How I left too soon

And by our growing pains

If you were a wolf

Then I was your prey

And it was fate that you left today

But I told you to go… leave, and pack your bags

And I suffered through the time that lags

God, my head really is throbbing

I’d go to sleep if wasn’t for the opera of disorder outside my window

If it wasn’t for the lack of clarity, I’d leave

I love goodbyes and hate hellos

But not the way that my life goes

Your presence is a crutch, your look is a sin

Even more so the way my life has been

But I’ll stop writing

I’m fatigued and the theatre is at odds with my logic

A card shuffler sells me a pack and I exit the 18th

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