Babe

Pig in the City

Space. Timelessness.

Nonexistence of reliable sense.

The music doesn't calm me
clobbered in independence.

Words. Spoken.

Keen to hear them.

But I might pull my ears out.

if I had the option.

Talking. All the time

Maybe they should stay shut. 

Frightened, this might be
how the world is.

Fringe disadvantages

of leaving my own.

Into a new one,

looking for what everyone was.

Shifting universes

between midnights
and midmornings.

Yet, not moving a bit.

Trying to love and accept.

Spend the day cleaning

the trouble stains,

around the voices,

amidst the words,

spoken through familiar lips.

I wonder if this is happiness.

Then again, I never came looking.