Politicking with Pain

I can't sleep anymore
Piano. Storms. White noise
Nothing works.
I can't fly stars in the skies
Or drag the dark to my bed
Instead I fold my defeat,
Roll it under my bed
While the nocturnal hyenas
Wait to pull my lashes out, one by one
Yet...
their COVID conversations
About the unusual length of their beards continue
Simultaneously covering their car seats, fans, ceilings, yawns and stretches
Yet...
Their rhetorics remain
Painfully poised
Arduously Aligned
With discourses dabbling
On winning the next power lottery.
They taunt, tease and turn
Every strategy to own Forever
Living on...
To dictate, roost, and roll
In garlands of indignities...
While...
My crushed bones appeal
Against my demolition in the junkyard of pain
Remotely negotiating a return to life
While...
I
fly kites
Only to return to a ditch
Etched with a tombstone
Of Torture Tales
While...
I
remain buried alive
wrapped In layers of white
With unexplained, defeated
Ink blotches
Of my womanly surrender...
Go ahead.
Pull the plug.
I don't need my breath anymore.
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