All things were elegant and in their place
some things disguised as sweetened lemonade
It didn’t occur to me at the time,
That I could be sipping from the bleak cup of monotony
It didn’t occur to me that I didn’t know
Only that my knees hurt, it was difficult to swallow
and I was exhausted
I only vaguely remember when the warp of cold air touched
and chilled my bones
It was the clamour of sarcasm
slamming together as cymbals
that shook the apathy off my skin
all that I understood was rendered to dust
I was stranded in a fog sardonic wonderment
Little bits of my self, relics bare and bruised
And hungry for truth
a hunger so severe you ache
and yet
Occasionally, someone offers me a sip from the cup
No thanks I say - I’ll pass on that cool-aid

Words © 2011 malai carrara
image © andreeachiru