This Is Not A Poem 002

i miss me

the choir of gladness
no longer sing in my head
as often as before now

when they do
it is an agonizing loop
of nightmarish cacophony

alto a little too low
is that a screech or some soprano
tenor like the groaning of an elderly toad

i miss me

the quiet in my mind
no longer caress my soul
as often as before now

when it caresses
it sandpapers my heart
into a mosaic of bruises

like a sleep-dispelling lullaby
it makes a night watch of me
when all i need is a deep sleep

i miss me

the humour in my nostril
no longer fill my lungs
as often as before now

when it does
i choke in forced laughter
& cringe as my ribs go crackers

no soothing music
no refreshing quiet
no humour — the joke’s on me

i miss me

this is not a poem