My Day To Your Night.

by Shan Shaikh

The weather is chilly here in discomfort

The goose bumps raise their black flags

I've never peered through domes of eternal bliss

Those sleek enough, slide past me

I seek the empty company in brown plastic bags,

With only a few holes and a branded corporate mark


The food lay cold in my mouth,

Ripping away the taste of your tongue from my buds

A silent exclamation of the nostalgic future departing

A few steps away you are, but miles apart I am


The instinctual tendencies aren't as bad

I've found relatable hatred in windows of angry houses

“Why are you staring at me?”


A horrid screech, four times it goes

It never ends

It's the call to return to what I wake for


A gift without a ribbon

The surprise package without the surprise

And the nine hour package you have to sit through


I miss the vibrations you create in my eardrum,

Your bittersweet whispers, a dark chocolate aftertaste

Constancy in pleasure, with what we use to walk

A reminder of the label, but we've seemed to expire


A two hour shift of craft

Loyalty through memorization of plagiarism

The hunger is fed by monsters,

Paid eight fifty an hour


Returning to the hell of suburbia,

The city I leave, alive and well

She cheats on me with the traffic

While the silence here engulfs my passion


The screen with fonts of entertainment

Can't get enough

Euphoria at its best

Nature's gift, given to me to write my name, date, and period

A battle between amusement, and zero recognition


Every blue black night, you give me company

On the screen, you see

A hobby it's become

My eyes just want security, you see


You want me to see, you see

So, I'll enjoy your pixelated smile

In secret, I save the memories


A new film every night,

Amidst the slumber of my consciousness

Fully revived the corpse is, when popcorn is available

But the machine is far from fixed, so here are some stale chips


You're the number one actress in these movies

Academy award recognition

Drama, comedy, tragedy

Cliffhangers deepen as we get closer to Limbo


The death of the new born, “What if…”

Is followed by a soothing horrid screech

Royskopp — Remind Me


I toss the warmth to begin a new

The rusted metal tube hangs on the wall,

To shower me with steaming slaps of “WAKE UP.”

So, I'll see you soon.

I wonder what the weather will be like.