oxytocin

clocks that work
smiles that are genuine

i lower my head
and concentrate
on the discomfort
around my right temple

tea

it’s not quite doing the trick,
but i drink it anyway
because i’ve told myself
that it will work.

i talked about my father today.

i drank with him two weeks ago.

my forehead.
the discomfort has moved there now.
i’m still drinking the tea.

oxytocin.
one person.
a friend.

i still can’t believe my mother is dead.
life is a shit hole.

i don’t have enough money to get out of it yet,
but i dream about the days when i will be out

up

away

smiling.

there will be pictures
and languages,
i will feel good.

when i’m not away,
i’ll do work that i love.
i will not dread each day as it begins

and in all this loving and seeing
and colour,
maybe i’ll find a clock that works
and smiles that are genuine
from one person.
a friend.

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