Getting Caught

It's the little things, I tell you.

I miss staring at my keyboard lacing my breathe around my fingers thinking of what to write.

Thinking of what to think. What to feel. 

But now?... When I do it I'm careful not to wake my me that I've to be. 

I'm careful not to let it know of this forbidden relationship I'm having with the beauty of nothingness and all that emerges. 

I'm careful as i poke his memories and follow the traces of his heartbeats. 

Reason? 

Well, I have a gamblers hope: pouring everything I have for a quarter of seconds, some change and a few nickel. 

Because I can't live with less. 

I miss writing to remember.

I miss waking every beast that lies within me until we share a drink over all that doesn't kill them — kill us

I miss the inherent nature of being a liar that a poet is. Living a double life that doubles up on my heartbeat.

Because I can't afford to lie to me as I describe the beauty of that truth.

You see, it's the little things.

Until then I promise you I'd keep trying to steal moments like this to arm wrestle the minutes hand only to drink over these little things. 

If you don't see me is because I got caught.. By him that's me. That I have to be. 

Abu A'ish MK Albani, Getting Caught 

25.05.2023

12.23