real life

It's long past Sunday, but all the Sunday Scriblings posts have inspired me to get on board. So here we go. (Disclaimer: I am not a poet.)

Real Life

Lift me out of this pale routine.
My comfort is slow-acting poison now.
Pull me outside.
Let beauty smack my sleepy face
Like a worried parent.
Wake me up.

Surprise me.
I may think I know you, so
Tell me what you really want now.
And don't make me happy.

Hear the call, the boredom
Seeping in contentment's basement.
The squirm, the snap,
The flash of anger:

This is not enough.

We drape the light with darkness dressed
As form
Familiar.
We pack the open wound, forgetting
It
Bleeds
Life.