3 parts 

I

As the sun sets, my sorrow grows,
The lights are dim, and the television screens pointless shows

Aladdin’s lamp is the only one I’d currently light,
I could use a wish, and there’s no prediction for shooting stars tonight

II

I hate it here: the place is filled with princesses.

And a sorrow blooms in my chest.
My heart is heavy, and my head is light.

But whether I’m in love, or I’m surfing a nicotine buzz is unknown

As I breathe, smoke fills my lungs, and I feel a heaviness – a restriction in my chest –
so that I don’t feel light, but weighted.

And so my mind is.

Desire between snapping and murderous rage
at being dominated, controlled….
Or not caring….

… to not care would be a wonderful blessing.
And maybe I don’t?

My hand smells like cigarettes, and as I ball my fist,
I imagine smashing it into a face…or three.

But I hesitate – do I not want a world without violence?

So I hold my hand, and bite my tongue – so hard –
blood drips over my lips and down my chin.

There is no one to kiss away this pain. No deathly
grip or vice in which to hold and hang this thing

Held over me.

III

You are three parts, and still not whole.
I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole, now living like some sightless mole,
and walking over hellish burning coal so that I may play the role
of perfect person – never a troll – while I feel my withered soul
is draining away as if someone stole – without paying the toll –

My freedom; and my love: my heart.

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