Addiction to Inhumanity

Death keeps waltzing to my door.

Love, Patience and Rationality are at the windowsill

Chittering as birds

But Death is noisy and boisterous tonight.

I know the three clipped mockingbirds

Are beloved and care

But they also teeter on edges of anger and

Bitterness and resentment that rings clear.

Death has magnificent sashays.

You can see him strut the promenade of my heart

With his silky feet and sultry voice.

I worry about him coming tomorrow

Unexpectedly.

I wish he would leave me to enjoy the

Rain on the windowpane.

The town crier kept saying it was

An irrelevant, microscopic thunderstorm.

I wonder then why does it feel so heavy?

Why does it feel so fatal?

Where are the ones who love me?

Death is such a tease.

Rationality always tries to tap on the window and say

Let Love and Patience at least come in.

After all, they are cold

From my addiction to inhumanity.

They want to help in the moments where

I can’t let myself win.

I let them in to dry their wet socks,

But I tell them they cannot stay.