Desperate boy’s dirge
a villanelle poem
I’m wide awake yet nothing feels like home,
I fall asleep, forget my given name,
my thoughts are rust; no longer polished chrome,
I tried to read religion’s holy tome,
you know the one; they always sound the same,
I’m wide awake yet nothing feels like home,
I need my coffee; dark and topped with foam,
forget it!-caffeine can’t absolve this blame,
my thoughts are rust; no longer polished chrome,
perhaps some gin?- they say that when in Rome
one does as Romans do to steady aim,
I’m wide awake yet nothing feels like home,
the constant beat like Satan’s metronome
resounding in my skull, compounding shame,
my thoughts are rust; no longer polished chrome,
resistance weak; I barely have one ohm
to fight the current, setting life aflame,
I’m wide awake yet nothing feels like home,
my thoughts are rust; no longer polished chrome.
