I lie on the grass
And look up at the stars
But only in my imagination
They are so clear there
My mind works in space
Among the flotsam and infinity
I walk up and down
Heels stomping
Heavily preparing for a sleep
That may never take me
Nibbling chocolates absent-mindedly
I am suckling
Where is the mother?
My father looks at me, askance
Slightly down his nose
Long eyelashes I never noticed
Until I saw his corpse
Waxen in the coffin
Dead like me inside
Dead inside his coffin
He looked so young
Now, I would gladly sleep
The sleep of the dead
I wish for nothing more
But sugar zaps my synapses
Feeds ruminating resentment
“I wasn’t born yesterday”
My father said
When I tried to pull the wool over
His eyes (my eyes)
He never suffered fools gladly
And nor will I
