The seventh month passed in lockdown
I recall SMT Devil Survivor’s seven days
No demons appear, but shadows loom:
An embodiment of capitalist exhaustion
For these are “unprecedented times” or
So every e-mail tells me, along with a
Wish for my well-being: a hopefulness
Which is answered with disappointment
For I am not alright, and like the artist,
Motion City Soundtrack, I sing along to
Request a plea, tell me a lie to force me
To cast on myself the spell of delusion
I roll a Nat20, and I fool everybody into
Believing that I am alright despite how
I’ve built my house in Stockholm; I am
An imposter among the world’s players
Incarcerated in the four yellow walls of
My room. I recall Emma Donoghue and
Authors, and novels that I’ve left unread
For I am at the cusp of my own narrative
At least romantically, I have fallen again
For a friend, like an alcoholic relapsing;
I’ve written about him subliminally in
Poems: too many for a single person;
Too little to encompass what I feel, for
Under the blanket of darkness, the light
From a laptop shines through to meet
Eyes that reflect the image of another:
A boy, talking about anything under the
Sun, which rises as our calls reach their
Seventh hour. Sunbeams would pierce
The windows of our soul, and we pause
In reflection as we decide to go to sleep
So I dream about what our interactions
Mean: the average trend indicative of
Something more, but of what exactly?
It’s a friendship extended past twilight
Vampiric — time is sucked away into a
Black hole, where a black box is built
To contain the definition of relationship
I care for you in a way we defined as
Forbidden, for friends to fall in love is
Equivalent to devouring Eden’s apple;
Let me be Eve and tempt you for a taste
We could go on a trial period: 6 months
The regurgitate me as your crush, your
Lover. A significant other in a world that
Could care less of our lives’ significance
